


The Teddy Bear Murderer and the Daft Kleptomaniac

by orphan_account



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, The Heroes of Olympus - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Humor, Pre-Heroes of Olympus, Romance, multiple OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-03-09
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 41,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Judy is your average daughter of Mercury; she's got a history of petty thievery and a penchant for bad jokes. Unfortunately, for one half summer, just because he looked vaguely like Leonardo DiCaprio (if you blinded yourself), she made the rather terrible decision of stalking Octavian. And, of course, no one seems to want to forget it...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story will ignore Mark of Athena. (I haven't read it yet, welp.)

"Judy."

I tried not to listen to my mother. Instead, I pretended to be engrossed in my homework and tapped away on a calculator. "42…" I muttered under my breath, hoping she would fall for it.

Naturally, she didn't.

" _Judy Langley_ , you will listen to me _now_." Her voice struck fear and forced me to face her.

"Oh, I didn't see you, there, Mom," I said smoothly. "What's up?"

"Oh, I know you heard me the whole time! No BS, Judy!" Mom yelled at me. "Where did this come from?" She waved a blue Discman in her hand. A _familiar_ blue Discman.

 _Crap. She's technically cursing. I'm a goner._ "Uh, I don't know, but it's nice. I guess. A little outdated." I forced a laugh. "Why?"

" _No_ _BS, Judy_. _Where did this come from?_ "

I faked a smile. "I don't-" Images of a ruined life flashed through my mind. "When we were in Florida this summer? I found it." Mom didn't say anything. I continued. "It was on this park bench. It looked really nice, and whoever owned it didn't care about; they weren't _watching_ it, so I… took it. I mean, I would be a better owner."

"Did you see this on it?" She pointed to a cluster of words scribbled in permanent marker that I hadn't been able to wash off. "Property of Clarence Oshalane. If found, please return." Written under it was phone number.

"Oh, how did I not see that? Silly of me. But I guess it's too late n-" I stopped abruptly. _That was the wrong thing to say._ The minute I began saying it, I knew. "I mean, Mom, uh..."

"Judy, do you know what 'no BS' means? Because I can teach you, don't worry." My mother was exceedingly angry, and her anger was slowly growing. It felt like every time I said something, I only dug myself deeper.

"I know what BS means!" I shrieked fearfully. "Ahhh… Okay, Mom. All truth from here on out." I took a deep breath. "Well, I wanted it, Mom. Like I said, this Clarence guy was being careless with it, and I just thought that it deserved a new owner. When I saw the number, I tried to take it off because it-" I studied my nails. They were shapely and clean, but I definitely didn't examine my nails just to make sure, if you know what I mean. "-it could've gotten me caught… I thought about giving it back, but you and Dad would be really mad."

Weirdly, Mom's anger was gone by then, and it was replaced by this really sad face. You'd think it would be better, but you know when people are like, "My parents weren't angry. They were disappointed, and that was worse," and you're like, "LOL, yeah right"? This was that. And it turned out that the disappointed thing was actually true.

Still, I kept talking. "At least it wasn't an iPod or something more expensive. At least it wasn't a wallet, or a cell phone, or a purse..."

"Judy. This isn't even kleptomania anymore. This is _thievery_. You stole this. You know that, right?"

"Umm... I... I'm sorry, Mom," I told her, and I really was. It was the disappointed thing.

"Judy," she said. "I think you need help."

* * *

Therapy wasn't as bad as people said it was. It was like writing in a diary, except your hand didn't hurt at the end and you were given helpful advice. Sometimes my therapist tried a little too hard to act like one of my friends, but she meant well, I guess. I actually didn't end up going there very long, but it was a worthwhile experience. Probably. To tell the truth, the only thing she did that really changed me happened on the first visit.

"Judy, I don't think you have kleptomania," Ms. Malia said. "You steal things because you want them, not because you like stealing." She eyed me. "Do you like stealing?"

"It's okay, I guess. I mean, I get stuff. But I've only done it seriously once. I usually just borrow things from my brothers without asking or telling them about it and keep them for long periods of time. If they ask me where it went…" I shrugged exaggeratedly. "'I wish I knew!'"

This memory has haunted me for several years.

"Well," Ms. Malia began, "I still don't think you have kleptomania. But the point of this is that you have to work on willpower."

"What do you mean?"

She looks at me. "Well, you have to realize you were doing something wrong, which I know you have. You have to work on it now. Willpower. Ignore the need. Listen to your conscience."

"My conscience? I don't actually hear from my conscience all that much anymore." Yes, I really said that. I was embarrassing when I was thirteen. I'm pretty sure I've brought this up already.

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. This happens a lot, so don't worry," she assured me. "Have you ever seen _Pinocchio_?"

I raised an eyebrow. "The cartoon with the puppet that wants to be a real boy?"

"That one. Do you remember who Jiminy Cricket was?" she asked.

"He was Pinocchio's conscience," I said, inwardly groaning.

"Do you see where I'm going with this?" she asked perkily.

"You mean you want me to create a hypothetical conscience who will show up whenever I'm about to do something bad?" I ask skeptically. "Like on TV?"

"Exactly! It can be anyone you want, a movie star, a cartoon character, some sort of religious figure, historical person, anyone!" She was animated and obviously very excited about the idea.

"I understand," I told her. _I just don't think it'll work._

"Great, because our time's run out! See you next week!" she said uncannily energetically, clapping her hands together.

And that was how I began my hypothetical relationship with Franklin Pierce, which I refuse to expand on. Not now, at least.

* * *

I stopped going to the therapist on March 23rd, and I wasn't required to spend an hour with her a week, which was a relief. The next two months passed uneventfully.

Then, June 18th came. It was the last day of finals, and I was _happy_ and totally ready to hang out with my friends for the next three months. And sleep. But things didn't go as planned.

I suspected my mom was doing weird things earlier in the week, when she started making strange faces at me while she was surfing the Internet. It was definitely unsettling. I would've tried to figure out what she was doing, but, you know, I kind of had finals.

Anyway, I came home early that Friday, and the house was empty. My brother and other brother were both hanging out with their circle of friends, but I was super tired from studying and testing and whatnot and decided to take a nap. So I opened the door to my house, and there on the kitchen table was an open copy of _Family Circle_. That's not the important part. What's important was the folded letter set to bookmark the page. (It was useless since the thing was open, but I could really care less.) At least, it seemed important.

* * *

Alright, I know I'm interrupting my own narration, but this is somewhat important, so bear with me.

My mother is famous. You're jealous.

Okay, she's somewhat famous. She wrote this super popular song in the nineties that everyone loved. It's a wonderful song, and this is coming from the perspective of her teenage daughter. It's common knowledge that teenagers are programmed to hate their parents and everything that they do until they become a certain age. What is that age, you ask? I wouldn't know. I'm a teenager. But I'm getting frightfully ( _frightfully_ ) off-topic.

You've heard the song before. You probably don't think you've heard some nineties song 'cause you're not some nineties kid, but trust me: If you have parents that love you or some kind of adult in your life or friend with a good taste in music, you've heard this song. Hell, if you've waited in a doctor's office or gone shopping at Wal-Mart, you've heard the song. It's played daily by easy-listening radio stations everywhere.

Anyway, it was my mother's first song, and, coincidentally (not really) it was her peak. She tried to write another hit, but she just came up with this trash embodying the embarrassing pop of the nineties.

But that's not the point. I know, I'd think that was the point, too, but it isn't. I'm sorry.

The point: At the height of her popularity, she met this guy. He was a nice guy, so they, uh, slept together. In the morning, since she was "young and afraid of commitment" she slipped out, leaving a note that said "I can't do this. Sorry. " It makes me embarrassed to be related to her. So heartless.

Anyway, it turned out she was knocked up with me, (which gives a whole new meaning to "one-hit wonder") so after her failed attempt at a musical career, she got a stable job and met Dad. It turned out she could live off of the royalties of her super-hit, but her business was flourishing, so she just kept working and now we're rich.

Okay, so now you're questioning. If I'm so freaking rich, why did I need to steal a _Discman_ , of all things?

Thing is, my mother promised to get me an iPod if I got above 80 in all my subjects at the end of seventh grade. But I got a 78 in pesky Social Studies, and my mom got me nothing. Quite mean, you'd agree. I deserved it, all right? (At least, that's how I felt at the time.)

All right.

* * *

The letter practically _begged_ me to open it. Call me weird for thinking mail bookmarking a page in an open _Family Circle_ on the kitchen table would be worth a read, but I had some sort of tired reasoning in my head, believe me. I think.

So I reached for the letter... and Franklin Pierce materialized next to me.

Before you judge me, understand this: I was thirteen, Franklin Pierce had the coolest-looking portrait ever, and I needed some sort of hypothetical conscience. Why not the über-famous Franklin Pierce?

Exactly. There is no reason why not.

Deal.

Anyway, standing in front of me was Franklin Pierce with his cool haircut, fancy tux, and British accent for no reason whatsoever. Okay, so you can't _see_ the accent, but I think it's worth mentioning.

"And we were doing so well..." President Franklin said, shaking his head and looking down.

"Please," I told him, rolling my eyes. (I do indeed speak to figments of my imagination when no one is around.) "This isn't stealing, just borrowing. Plus, it's asking to be read. Look at it, gawking at me in its comfy magazine home!"

"You're being ridiculous. Ending your 'being somewhat decent' streak just to read someone's mail… What could you possibly stand to gain from reading a letter sitting out on the kitchen table?" he asked, and I stopped to think for second.

"Well," I began, "Mom was-"

Franklin chuckled at me. "I know all about your mother. I'm you," he informed me.

"Don't break the fourth wall!" I yelled at him. "Anyway…"

"Judy… Do you really think if the letter held something so important, it would be lying the kitchen table, in plain sight, right where you could see it?" he redundantly asked me.

Thinking about it, I realized that what he was saying was completely logical. "You know, Franklin?"

"President Franklin Pierce."

"Shut up, you're hypothetical. Anyway, you know what?"

"You're about to say I'm correct, which I am, due to the fact that I am, in fact, you. If I were incorrect, you would probably need to resume your visits to your therapist. In any case, I'm somewhat glad you're not stupid enough to sacrifice your streak for a middle-aged woman's mail."

* * *

"Judy," I heard my mom say, and I felt a gentle shake. I kept my eyes closed and didn't move an inch, hoping she'd eventually go away. "Judy, if you don't get up now, you're officially grounded. Officially," she whispered softly, her tone not matching her words. I figured she was bluffing, so I stayed still. "Well then… We'll do this later, I guess. Oh, and you're really grounded."

The door shut, and I fell back asleep.

* * *

When I woke up, it was dark out. Not caring much, since school was pretty much over, not counting the number-necessary days, I wandered out my door.

Half-asleep and zombielike, I bumped into my eleven year-old brother, Sean. He smirked at me. "Woke up from your coma?" he asked jokingly, and, before I could process what he was saying, let alone reply, he went into his room to do eleven year-old things.

Having not realized this, I said, "Oh… yeah," to the air. Then, Sean's door opened again a crack and his frowning head popped out. "Why did you even get up if you're so tired? Anyway, Mom's been looking for you. She's in the kitchen." His head disappeared and the door closed behind him.

I was on the verge of turning around and going back to my room, but right then, out the kitchen door came my mother. "Ah, Judy, I've been wanting to talk to you, but you chose this particular day to pass out."

I wrinkled my nose. "What do you want, Mom?" I yawned.

"Still tired? If you don't go to sleep now, you probably won't be able to sleep at all tonight. But this is extremely important. Wait here for a second," she told me, and went back into the kitchen. She came back with a glass of water and a piece of paper.

"Is that for me?" I asked. "Is that supposed to wake me up or something?"

"Well, you're pretty suitably awake now, but I need you to be awake enough so you won't be able to convince yourself you're dreaming."

This alarmed me, needless to say. "What do you mean?" I chuckled nervously.

"In time," she said purposely cryptically in a pathetic attempt to sound mysterious. She led me to my room.

I sat on tn my bed and laid back down. Mom closed the door. "Am I in trouble?" I asked her. "Wait, why would I be dreaming about getting in trouble?"

"You're not in trouble, Judy. Well, kind of. Maybe. So, Judy, do you have anything to say to me?"

I instantly drew a blank. "Uhh... no?" A silence passed. "Oh! I love you, Mom! Does this have something to do with my graduation next week?"

She looked at me like I was insane. "You mean to say you didn't?" she asked without any explanation. "I was so sure that you would. I should know; I'm your mother. But I guess you wouldn't be able to fall asleep after learning from it." She let out a deep sigh. "Does this look familiar?" she questioned, holding up a folded piece of paper bearing a ridiculous amount of similarity to the letter inside the _Family Circle_ from earlier.

"That's the letter from this afternoon inside the magazine! The one I almost read!" I said instantly. "Right?"

"The one you _almost_ read?" she asked. I was about to explain, but she cut me off. "Never mind, I don't want to know. Anyway, read it." She handed it to me. I took it.

I felt significantly peeved about the fact that I was _supposed_ to read it, and silently cursed Franklin Pierce and his nonfamous presidency. "Okay." The room was quiet while I read it. "Mom."

"Well?"

"Is this some kind of joke? Some kind of not-tasteful, unfunny, lame joke?" I asked redundantly. "I mean, seriously." I faked a deep, overdramatic voice. "Signed, _Mercury_. Mercury? Seriously? What, is it obscure reference day? _Roman_ gods? Seriously, if you want a practical mythology joke, _nerd_ , why the most obscure mythology ever? What _is_ Roman mythology? Egyptian mythology, Native American mythology, I recognize - okay, Native American's a stretch, I only know the Great Tree thing, I think that was them - but _Roman_ mythology? I mean, even Greek mythology! How did I forget that? _Hercules_ , best Disney movie ever!"

"Time to stop talking, my daughter. I thought it was a joke, too, but I did a little research in my spare time-"

"Skipped _Desperate Housewives_?"

"No!" she said. "Never. But during the commercials... How about this: Mercury, Roman god of lying? Roman god of _thievery_? I don't know, Judy, but those traits seem to personify _you_." I didn't say anything. She continued, "Seriously, though, Judy, think about it. You didn't get the stealing trait from _me_ , and you've never _needed_ to steal, right? Farthest thing from it. So we'll check this summer camp out, and if there's nothing there, we'll come back, okay? There's an address."

I looked back at the letter. "Yeah, in _California_! It's across the country, Mom!" I said. "And seriously, you're going to fall for this? This 'the Roman gods are real' thing? Why would obscure mythology turn out to be the real thing? Why not _God_ -god, Allah, or the Hindu gods?"

"Look, Judy. If there's nothing there, we'll spend the weekend in California. You don't want to go to California? We can go to Carl Jr.'s. Those burgers are heavenly. Anyway, we're agnostic."

* * *

In the end, I decided to go. Sean and Kyle were pissed that I got to take a trip to Cali, while Dad just thought it was a strange way to waste money. Still, we could afford it, so we went.

That was how I found myself there, in the middle of nowhere, with just me and my mother. We walked for a while, and then Mom stopped abruptly. "Judy. I think I dropped something back there. Wait here, okay? Actually, just keep walking, I'll catch up."

"Mom, I'll come with you."

She gave me a weird look. "No, Judy, keep walking. It'll save time and we can spend more time doing vacation things here. I'll catch up, okay? I need exercise anyway."

"Mom, no."

"Look, Judy, just do this, okay? Or else you're grounded on your first week of freedom. And we'll do absolutely nothing but shop for clothes this whole weekend."

" _Mom_."

"Judy, I'm going to go, and if you follow me, or just wait for me here, I am keeping my word."

"Mom, you're being ridiculous."

"Judy, if you don't go now, we will stand here arguing forever. I'm not backing down."

I wondered why my mother was acting so peculiar, but I finally decided to back down. "Fine, Mom. Just don't take long, okay?"

"Okay. _Catch up_ with you later, Judy."

I didn't laugh; I was kind of pissed at her. "Bye, Mom." I made a point of not looking back at her as I walked. Until I'd been walking too long of a time, and I didn't know where I was anymore. I looked around for my mother. She was nowhere in sight. "Mom? Mom! _Mom_!"

I tried to retrace my steps, but there wasn't any path. It was my fault; I shouldn't have left her in this area. Now she was probably lost, too.

I stayed completely still for hours. That's what they told you if you got lost: stay completely still.

And then, I was face to face with a pack of wolves and imminent death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It's OK to call; now I'll answer for myself. Come pick me up; I've landed."  
> \- "Landed", Ben Folds


	2. Prologue: Part 2

It was my birthday.

Actually, it wasn't, but June 20th had seemed to become my birthday. On my real birthday, I was in boarding school and Dad was always busy.

Ah, so you've gained interest. Boarding school? No mention of my mother? What do you make of it?

No, I have no parental issues. Unless you decide to count the fact that my mother has passed, which I don't. It was tragic, but it was quite while ago. And it's not as if I've had any difficulty getting over it. I've never met her.

But you're curious, aren't you? I have to say, you're quite predictable.

My mother was a famous musician. The critics loved her, the audience loved her; _everyone_ loved her. Music, somewhat literally, flowed through her veins. Like father, like daughter, after all.

My family has been noted for having a number of successful musicians. From year to year, one can always seem to find an ancestor of mine on a Top 40 list. Yet, even more literally than _that_ , music is in my family's blood. It began with my great-great grandfather.

I don't suppose you're familiar with him, but his name was Apollo. No, not _that_ Apollo, not the Greek you're thinking of. Rather, someone extremely similar: the Roman Apollo, god of music and poetry.

The differences are slight, but they are there, and, in the end, that is what matters. And yes, the Roman gods are real, but I'll leave you to get over that on your own time.

Let us return to my mother. During her lifetime, she "changed music forever" and "display[ed] a kind of originality that others spend a lifetime groping for", but that did nothing to stop her from dying like everyone else in her profession.

She died by drug overdose.

She was pathetic.

But I digress and, you know, I'd hate for this to take a dark turn so early.

In any case, it was not my birthday, but it felt like it.

It was the morning after my eighth-grade graduation, the morning after the end of the school year when Dad took me to our apartment in California, the morning when I'd look forward to spending the day with him.

My father is a busy man. As the CEO of a famous credit card company whose name I am disinclined to mention, he doesn't have a wealth of time to spend with me, and he never did.

But please understand: I am and always have been above complaining that my father does not spend enough time with me.

On my false birthday, rather than doing something frivolous, we simply spent the day walking along the streets California and speaking to each other. My father is brimming with pearls of wisdom; I learn more after a day speaking with him than after a year in school.

"Octavian," he told me on the way home, "you're an intelligent young man. Don't waste it. You have the potential to change the world. Put yourself in that position."

I hid my smile and silently nodded.

* * *

I had snuck off to the temple with a stuffed animal in my hand. Upon the altar, I took a knife and cut the elephant vertically across its stomach, its stuffing spilling out.

Allow me to explain: As a legacy of Apollo, he bestowed upon me the powers of prophesy, rather than the powers of musical talent, as it had a history of leading my ancestors to unfortunate deaths. Deaths of their own fault, but nevertheless, every single one of them died early.

In any case, I must sacrifice a small animal, regardless of whether it lived at one point or spent its whole "life" stuffed with cotton, if I want to successfully execute my gift.

I examined the stuffing, which blurrily read, _A hero is on the way._

To tell the truth, I had no idea what to make of the prophecy. My first point: The word "hero" was inanely vague. Most everyone, mortals included, had a capacity for heroics.

My second point: A hero from _what_ , exactly? Camp Jupiter at that time experienced a long period of peace, and we did not need a savior from monotony in the least. (Lupa is a celebrator of diversity, especially when it comes to life-endangering activities.)

My last point: The phrase "on the way." It did not say "a hero will come tomorrow," or "a hero will come during some time in the following week," or even "a hero will come." I hadn't even been granted the privilege of knowing the fact of whether or not said hero would even _make_ it.

Therefore, regardless of whether it was a bright idea or not, I kept quiet about the prophecy and simply told myself to keep good terms with future recruits.

* * *

A new recruit _did_ come the next day, but it was quite obviously not the hero of the prophecy. For one thing, she was female. The prophecy used the word _hero_ , a masculine noun. And yes, the small chance that the word _hero_ was used because the word _heroine_ was a homophone of the drug existed and I may have misinterpreted it, but that would be looking far too much into it.

There was also the fact that she was the farthest thing from hero material; when she came, she babbled about her mother being lost around Caldecott Tunnel (though she referred to it as "somewhere over there" while frantically pointing; she obviously had yet to familiarize herself with San Francisco), which was impossible, since Lupa normally monitored the area surrounding Camp Jupiter and led mortals away.

I sighed and stood up. When I heard about the new recruit, I had hoped for the resolution of my prophecy. The still-loose ends irritated me.

Still, she had somehow passed the interview, and Lupa somehow approved of her, so she must have had _some_ of a chance of the being the hero of the prophecy, despite her gender and bad initial impression.

Or maybe that was only wishful thinking.

In any case, it was time for her placement.

* * *

"Do you have a letter of recommendation?" Cameron Vargas, former praetor(though he still held the position at this time) and son of Minerva, asked her.

Fear took over her features and she asked, "Just hypothetically, what happens if I don't? I mean, I'm not _saying_ anything, but-"

"You're confessing the fact that you don't, Judy. We'll put you in the Fifth Cohor-"

She began digging through a large blue bag slung across her shoulder. "Wait! I think I might… um…"

Cameron discreetly sighed and rolled his eyes. "Judy, I'm fairly sure that-"

"Here! I think this might be it. I think Mom put these here." She handed him an envelope stuffed with paper, nervousness plastered across her face.

He scanned the paper quietly. "I suppose this is okay. We'll place you in the Third-"

"No offense, Cameron, but there's another piece of paper in the envelope."

"What?" he said, vaguely aggravated. "Oh. 'My daughter'… Is this written by your mortal parent? I don't understand why you thought this would count. This letter is voi-" He stopped abruptly. "Judy, this is your mother?" he asked her, pointing to the bottom of the stationery.

Judy curiously looked up from her hands. "Huh? Oh, yeah, that's my mother."

He examined her intently. "That's really your mother?" he asked her again.

She raised an eyebrow. "Uh, yeah. Why?" She met his eyes and grinned immensely. "You recognize her?"

"Yes, actually! Her song-" He coughed. "We'll talk about this later. Judy Calderon, First Cohort!"

Silence stretched its way across the audience.

"What are you doing? She's placed. Now go!"

The silence resumed.

Just so you know, I would have said something if I could have. However, as Cameron was a praetor and a fellow member of the First Cohort, I simply could not afford to have him on bad terms.

"You can't do that!" someone yelled. It was Emma, Cameron's half-sister. As they were somewhat close, I assume that she was not afraid to call him out.

"But I am a praetor," Cameron replied simply.

"So is Candace. Where is she?"

" _Candace_ is arriving at Camp Jupiter late this summer. I am the only one in charge for the next few weeks. Please don't tell me you are going to rebel because of the placement of one girl," he said. "Disperse."

"This is ridiculous," someone muttered.

During the mishap, Judy had been nervously twiddling her fingers and darting her eyes back and forth between Cameron and the crowd in front of her. She seemed to be worrying about the prospect of widespread hatred. Finally, she opened her mouth and said, "Um… You can place me in the Third Cohort if it's going to stop… _this_." She gestured vaguely. "I'm fine."

Cameron raised his palm towards her silently, as if to say _please shut up_. "Recruits are partially placed into their cohorts because of their parents. The only difference is that Judy's parent is mortal. Her letter of recommendation is good-" Someone audibly snorted, but Cameron ignored it. "-Lupa approves of her, and I approve of her. Therefore, she shall be placed in the First Cohort. Are there any objections?"

All eyes simultaneously flew to Emma, but she only _tsk_ 'd and said nothing.

"Thank you," Cameron said. "Have a good afternoon."

* * *

I sat on my bed, reading a ridiculously immense book. To others, it would have been depressing that the boundless summer reading list given would never be finished if it wasn't started a week into the summer, but as I was a remarkably intelligent fourteen year-old, I knew that beginning a task was better than lingering over the thought of it. Naturally.

"Hi," a voice anxiously said.

I looked up. Above me stood the new recruit, her face reminiscent of the face I saw during her placement. She had been spending time with Cameron, who shared the same barrack as me, but I couldn't tell why she was there. "Hello. Your name is Judy Calderon?" _Why are you speaking to me?_

"Yeah. So, what's your name?" she asked, not explaining why she had come up to me while I was _clearly_ immersed in my gargantuan novel. However, as she was part of my cohort, I told myself that it was more important that I kept good terms with her rather than finish my summer reading list.

I simply answered her, "Octavian," without informing her of my last name. My surname isn't embarrassing, per se, but next to the name of a former Roman emperor, it simply does not sound right. The sad reality of the fact is that there is a dangerously low list of surnames compatible with the name of Octavian (the original did not have a surname, mind you).

Judy took no notice. "That's a… cool name. Uh… Can I sit?"

"Of course." I made room for her on my bed. (Please do try not to take that sentence out of context.) A silence passed. I coughed. "Ah, I've been meaning to ask: Who is your mother?"

I said this because the awkward tension between us could be cut with a knife, not because I was actually curious. Chances were that her mother wasn't half as famous as the most obscure of my ancestors after Apollo.

"Oh!" Judy said, lifting her head up. Apparently, she had momentarily zoned out. While she was sitting on my bed. After initiating conversation.

Truth be told, I still lacked even the vaguest idea of why she approached me.

"My mother is - well, you probably don't know her by name; no one knows her by name. I barely do. Anyway, she sang a song in the nineties. 'Leave Me Where I Am'?"

I shook my head. As I was a busy fourteen year-old, I didn't have time for juvenile things such as music.

Okay, to be honest, that was something of a falsehood. Before I entered my boarding school, I had listened to a little bit of music. Chiefly Elvis. My hired a housekeeper to care for me back in who possessed and obsession with the King.

Elvis was an acquired taste, but I ended up finding myself humming "Heartbreak Hotel" without trying, and my caretaker gave me the album "ELV1S" when he moved back to Paris to rejoin his family. The only problem was that I had nothing to play it on because Father feared the thought of instilling a love for music inside of me, lest it kill me after short-lived fame.

"I'm afraid I don't recognize the song," I informed Judy. "I don't listen to music very often."

"But you're a child of Apollo, aren't you? I think Cameron said you were..." I opened my mouth and prepared to make an excuse when she continued, "Well, the song goes like this," and she started humming a faintly familiar song. "Recognize it now?" she asked.

I slightly nodded. "Vaguely."

"Well, it doesn't really matter. It's my mother who sang it, after all, not me," she said.

I nodded and, nearly inaudibly, said, "Yes," for a lack of other things to say.

We drifted off into a silence. Briefly, I wondered why she tortured herself with this conversation. "Hey," she said. "You know what's weird?"

"What?" I asked.

"You know how Mercury is the god of speed?" she asked.

"And your father," I added, fairly sure of the fact.

"Yeah, but that really has nothing to do with this. Anyway, isn't ironic how Mercury, the planet, was named for the god of speed, but a day there takes, like, three months or something?" she asked.

I examined her, and ultimately decided that she didn't _look_ stupid, but I supposed that one couldn't judge a book by cover. I tried to figure out how to put it nicely. "But wasn't Mercury, the planet, named for Mercury, the god, because its orbit around the sun was the fastest?"

Judy's face faintly flushed. "Oh... Uh, touché." I chose not to tell her that we weren't debating. "Well, I learned astronomy a long time ago. Third grade, I think. And you know, you just don't remember anything you learned in sch- Oh crap!" she yelled out of the blue. "How did I forget? I'm graduating next week! Why the hell did Mom-" She abruptly stopped and looked at me, smiling awkwardly. I had a feeling I was seeing her true colors shine through. "Oh, uh, sorry. Is there a way I can contact my parents? I have to go back home for a while."

I ignored the fact that her school let out extremely late and said, "Come with me."

* * *

"Dude, I'm naming you Squishy. Look at your face, it just screams, 'Name me after the small jellyfish from _Finding Nemo_!' God, you're adorable. Oh, yeah, _gods_ … Bah, I can't stand your cuteness!" I heard a voice coming from the door to my barrack, and what it said the smallest bit disconcerting. I walked inside and saw Judy sitting on my one of my roommate's bed, hugging a stuffed cat that I… er... _lifted_ from someone in the Fourth Cohort.

Judy had returned a few weeks past, and a new recruit by the name of Jason Grace recently joined the legion. I had the inkling of a feeling that he was the boy of the prophecy, and I planned to return to the temple and sacrifice another stuffed animal.

It was the middle of the day, and most of the recruits were having lunch. I had finished mine early in order to have time in my schedule for the sacrifice.

"Judy?" I asked disconcertedly, raising an eyebrow.

Judy's head turned incredibly fast, and she jumped to her feet, unsubtly hiding the cat behind her back. "Octavian! What are you doing here? In... your barrack… I guess the question is what am _I_ doing here, huh? Well, I'm... heh... Hey, I think meal hour is over! Better get to battle training!"

"Judy, what were you doing to my stuffed animal?" I asked her bluntly. "And you're correct. What are you doing here?"

"What stuffed animal?" she asked. "I have no stuffed animal! And now I must leave. See you later!"

"The meal hour is nowhere near over, Judy. And I heard you naming my stuffed cat, and I walked in on you hugging it. I also saw you attempt to hide it behind your back," I patiently reasoned with her. "Please answer my inquiries."

"So this stuffed animal is yours? I found it. I had no idea it _belonged_ to someone! None at all!" she clearly lied. I had left it sitting on my bed. "Hey, wait. Why do you have a stuffed animal?"

"Er... I..." I honestly couldn't think of anything to say. I didn't think she'd appreciate it if I told her I planned to kill it, even though the toy was never sentient.

"Octavian, you don't seem like the kind of person who needs things like this. Could you give it to me?" she asked. "Or were you planning to give it to someone else?" She wiggled her eyebrows disturbingly. "Just tell me who, I'll give to her for you, I swear! There's a lot less embarrassment if you skip the whole gathering-courage part!"

I frowned. "It's not a present. I need it. It is a rather urgent matter. Well, not exactly _urgent_ , but I've put aside my free hour to do this. It's important. Please return it to me."

Judy wrinkled her nose. "Are you sure you need it? I mean... Ugh, I'm being annoying aren't I? He-" She almost held out the cat, but she abruptly stopped. He eyes traveled to my left hand, which held a small knife. "Why do you need a stuffed cat and a knife at the same time?" she asked me. "That's a weird combination."

I inwardly groaned. I had been close to having her give it back. "I was... about to put this back," I told her.

She intently examined my face. "What do you need to do with a stuffed animal that you had to put aside time for?" She unexpectedly grinned. "Oh, it's totally a present!"

I sighed. "Actually, Judy, you can keep it. I'll find something else."

"Hey, Octavian," she said, happily patting me on the back, "you're a great guy. Thanks a lot. See you later, okay?"

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,  
> Little boy blue and the man on the moon.  
> 'When you comin' home, dad?'  
> 'I don't know when, but we'll get together then, son  
> 'You know we'll have a good time then."
> 
> -"Cat's in the Cradle", Harry Chapin
> 
> (Sorry, that was way too hilarious to resist.)


	3. Of Favors and Blackmail and Bows

"Judy, show the new recruit around," Cameron straightforwardly commands me. "Everyone else seems to be occupied."

Something you should know about Cameron: He isn't praetor anymore. He stepped down after the end of his second year, and no one protested. He was a good praetor, but he really did nothing important; think James Monroe, the Era of Good Feelings. What's that? You didn't listen in History class? I didn't either; Cameron made the comparison himself. He's kind of a nerd.

Anyway, you know what comes after the Era of Good Feelings? Some kind of panic era time-thing. (There was a real name for it, but I don't remember it.) After Cameron stepped down and Jason Grace, kid of some of end-of-the-world prophecy, came back from his first quest at age twelve, rumors floated around about Cronus (Titan father of the gods) rising to power. And then it was confirmed that Cronus and his Titan pals are going to try to take over the world. Oh joy. Every year, some kind of damage is done to our camp, and Jason Grace goes off to fix it. He's like Handyman Stan or something.

Currently, Jason Grace is a young, up-and-coming fourteen year-old kid, son of Jupiter. For some reason he ended up in the Fifth Cohort (I mean, honestly, if your dad was what your summer camp was named for, why are you placed in the lowest, least important sector?), but, like I said, he's already gone on a couple of quests and he's succeeded.

He's a nice kid, I guess. Not that I've spoken to him all that much, but whatever. He's off on a quest now for some reason or the other. Honestly, I don't like to listen when they talk about the End of the World. It's like listening to news radio and how global warming will kill everyone. Or politics, but it's all the same. For me, ignorance is bliss, you know?

"Judy," Cameron repeats, vaguely irritated, "I'd appreciate it if you would answer. Please don't daydream when people speak with you; it's rather rude."

"Daydreaming?" I scoff haughtily. "I was not daydreaming in the slightest! Simply… thinking over your offer."

"It was not an offer; it was a command."

"Well-" The kid standing next to Cameron catches my eye. He's confused and pathetic-looking. Pity instantly washes over me. "Alright, sure, leave the kid with me. I'll take care of him."

"I somewhat appreciate this. I _would_ appreciate it more if you had stated it immediately, but nevertheless, I must be off." Cameron walks away, unknowingly leaving an awkward silence between me and the new recruit.

I look him over. He's wearing a blue tattered, grimy button-down t-shirt and black pants. His hair is disheveled and red, and his clear blue eyes _peer into my soul_. Or look pathetic, but whatever.

All in all, he's the prettiest boy I've ever seen.

"So," I say, "what's your name?"

He rubs the back of his neck as if I've asked the most embarrassing question in the world. "Taylor..."

Apparently I have. "Um, isn't that a girl's- whatever. So who's your parent? I'd bet ten bucks it's Venus. Am I right?"

"Yeah... And before you ask… I'm fourteen…" he says, quietly examining his dirty sneakers.

"You're old," I bluntly remark. Taylor looks up and raises his eyebrows questioningly. "Well, I mean, I'm sixteen, but I came here three years ago. You're pretty old for a new recruit, I'm just saying."

"I think they said something about my... scent? It's weak? I don't know what they're talking about here; Dad just told me, 'Taylor, go in the forest and look for wolves. If you find them, pretend you're tough. Don't give them your sass.' He said he had to or he wasn't going to let me-"

"Hold up. Sass?" I ask curiously. _Aren't fathers supposed to at least vaguely know who their children are?_

He looks at the ground and rubs his neck again. "Yeah..." A silence passes. "That's all I can really tell you about myself..."

I meet his eyes. "Listen, Taylor. You need to perk up. I am not going to kill you. Do you understand this? No one will kill you. I mean, unless we play that stupid war game, but I've got your back, alright?"

"O… kay!" he says, artificial perk coming off of him like gas from an engine.

"Well, not like that. A little more genuinely. Anyway, let me show you around."

* * *

"So I said, 'What the hell is up with that?' And then Susan goes, 'Your mom.' Seriously. What are we, frat boys?" I tell Taylor.

"It's not like only frat boys are the only people allowed to make 'your mom' jokes," Susan says from above me. Introductions are in order? Introductions are in order.

Susan Pearson is a girl from New Jersey who just happens to be my younger half-sister. She's kind of a giant hick. I mean this. She's from Hicksville. _Hicksville._ Take that in right there.

She regularly combats my insults toward her hometown with, "Billy Joel is from there!" and I'm like, "Who the hell is Billy Joel?" And then she says, "Your mom," because she's apparently ticked off that I don't know who her obscure singer is.

She has extremely long black hair that goes down to her hips, brown, murky, unexceptional eyes (We're friends!) and an angular face, like Pocahontas, except that she's not Native American in the slightest. She always wears the purple Camp Jupiter t-shirt and any pants she finds lying around (in her closet. She always stresses this. It's because I like to accuse her of stealing my pants). Often, these are bad combinations. That is the situation now.

Taylor looks her over and instantly says, "What's wrong with your pants?" He then promptly clasps a hand over his mouth and removes it. "I mean…"

"Huh?" Susan asks, quickly glancing at her legs. She's wearing these ugly gray jogging pants that she can't rock in any way at all. "There's nothing wrong with my pants! Are there holes in the back or something?" She circles around and plops next to me and Taylor.

"He's talking about how ugly they are!" (He really is.) "Seriously, what convinced you that you should buy jogging pants and wear them at times when you are not jogging?" I ask her.

"Oh, shut up, Judy. No one asked you. Okay, _I_ asked you, but shut up." She twirls a strand of ebony ( _and iiivoryyy_ … is that the only reason I used the word "ebony"? Yes, yes it is.) hair between her fingers. "Well, at least I'm not some pretentious Venus kid who cares about coordinating every single outfit. And get off my back about the 'your mom' jokes. It's _funny_. Even if I'm not some fourteen year-old boy."

 _Obviously someone is feeling a little vitriolic today._ I don't say anything for fear of angering her. I look at Taylor, who is avoiding eye contact while staring at the ground awkwardly, and break into laughter. "Way to insult the new kid, Susan. Where did you get the 'fourteen year-old' boy thing from, anyway? Meet Taylor- Hey, Taylor, what's your last name?"

Taylor lifts his head and takes a moment to think. "Shea."

"Taylor Shea, son of Venus and fourteen year-old boy." I burst into a fit of laughter.

"Oh crap, Taylor, no offense," Susan hurriedly says. "I didn't really mean it. Anyway, my name's Susan. I'm this insane girl's sister." She offers her hand, and Taylor shakes it.

"I resent that," I say. "I'm completely normal, douche."

" _Completely_."

"Shut up."

* * *

"Judy," I hear a voice say. I spin around to see a familiar legacy of Apollo.

"Hey, Octavian," I say. "What's up?"

Octavian No-Last-Name is this blond kid with icy blue eyes that really do peer into your soul. He always wears jeans and some random solid-color t-shirt, unless he wears the Camp Jupiter tee, in which case he wears a solid-color t-shirt that has the words Camp Jupiter emblazoned on it.

"I hate to bother you, but would you do me a favor?" he asks me.

It isn't often that he _asks_ things of _other_ people, let alone me, so I reply, "Sure, why not?"

"Perfect," he says. "Could you… _borrow_ me a few of stuffed animals? I seem to have run out."

"Um…" The answer is no, but I'm trying to think of a way to say it so I won't offend him. See, Octavian is one of the first people I've spoken to at Camp Jupiter, and honestly, I really treasure our friendship.

That last part was something of a joke, but I really don't like pissing people off. Also, Octavian is a nice kid. He gave me a stuffed animal… two years ago.

"How to put this… See, Octavian, I don't advocate the widespread slaughter of stuffed animals that could easily cheer up homeless children. And belong to other people," I explain. "Also, my mother hates it when I steal. My dad does, too. 'Only when you have to,' they tell me."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, though I probably am not, but isn't your father the god of thieves?"

"Um… No. …Oh. You mean my _father_ father. Yeah. But my mortal father isn't. He's just a guy." I intelligently word my explanation.

Octavian nods. "Well, I don't mean to offend you, but don't you owe me?" he asks.

I raise my eyebrows. "What do you mean? I don't really speak to you that often, _which I regret_ , so I don't really ask you for favors that much either."

"It was a few years ago. I'd have hoped you remembered," he says, sighing.

"You mean Squishy?" He almost imperceptibly nods. "You _gave_ that to me. And it was only one, Octavian, so you can't really say that to persuade me to get you a bunch," I aptly reason with him.

"Think of it as… interest."

I can't help myself; I chuckle and roll my eyes. I mean, the kid is acting like we're in a gang war movie and he's trying to blackmail me into joining his drug-dealing mafia. "Face it, Octavian: Your argument sucks and I'm not going to do this for you. What happened to 'favor,' anyway?" He doesn't reply and thinks for a second. If he planned to say something, I cut him off. "Okay, look. I'll do anything else that you need me to. You know, that doesn't involving stealing and aiding in homicide."

A young passing recruit I don't recognize stops and gives me and Octavian a curious look, and then scurries away. _Yeah, kid. I find Octavian intimidating, too. Actually, I don't, but… go away. Just go away._

Octavian doesn't notice the kid; he just stares at me, either lost in thought or spontaneously realizing my absorbing attractiveness. He then sighs. "Forgive me. It was quite pathetic of me to attempt to use a two year-old stuffed animal as leverage over you. I also regret trying to force you to do something for me; that was rather rude and we do have a relatively friendly history. However, I'm afraid I don't need your help in other ways, so... Would you please do me this?"

"Why do you need to steal stuffed animals anyway? You're our camp's prophesier; don't they give you money to buy the stuff?"

Octavian sighs again. He really should find other ways to express his discontent. "I'm given a sufficient amount of money, but earlier this year I sent someone to buy the sacrifices for me and he came back with a pile of Pillow Pets. 'I'm supporting a company that produces useful and logical inventions,' he says. That's very well; I am trying to help save the world from disaster. Please buy more numerous, cheaper sacrifices. Alas, he had used the entire budget, and I had to make do with a mere ten Pillow Pets."

Briefly, I wonder when the hell Octavian started talking like that. I mean, I _have_ spoken to him somewhat recently, but not long enough for him to go off on a tangent in fancy-speak. The last actual conversation I had with the guy was a year and half ago, and back then, he spoke like a normal person.

Well, to an extent.

…Actually, in retrospect, he didn't. But he wasn't so… _showy_ about it. He talks like a _politician_ now! I think. I'm not into politics. I'm not into watching the news, remember?

"The gods also enjoy giving me useless and vague information. It's as if they laugh at my dilemma from the heavens." He _tsk_ s. "So… would you do this for me?" Octavian asks.

I brush my hair behind my ear and think. "Octavian… I don't steal. Not big things, anyway. And, like I said, I don't really _approve_ of this mass stuffed animal cruelty. I know it's saving the world and all that… Like, I eat meat, but I'm not willing to be a butcher, you know?" I explain oh-so-eloquently.

"You are aware that they are made of cotton, correct?" Octavian asks, just a little exasperatedly. I open and close my mouth like a fish, ultimately choosing not to say anything. He continues, "Well, I suppose it is sentimentality." He clicks his tongue. "Judy, I came to you for a reason - no, that reason was not that I thought I had leverage over you. Well, not _only_ \- but you seem to be strongly against it. It _will_ be difficult to find another Mercury child I can trust, but I must make do." He sighs again, and says, "I should go," and then turns around and starts to walk away. As I look at his back, I think, _Well, what the hell, right? Why not? I mean, for old times' sake!_

So you're wondering about what kind of relationship I had with this guy that warranted a "for old times' sake" but still made it possible for me to stop talking to him for a year and a half. Well, see, I was the one propelling the friendship, talking to him while he was reading, talking to him while he was contemplating life or doing whatever Octavians do sitting under trees, talking to him while he was being harassed by fauns. I gradually stopped hanging out with him when I found out that he liked to cut up stuffed animals, but it's not like I hung him out to dry or anything; he didn't seem to enjoy my presence all that much, and he didn't say anything when I stopped coming up to him. There wasn't a fight or anything, and I talked to him _sometimes_ , so all was sort of good.

There was an actual reason I initiated the friendship, but it's a little embarrassing to get into, so I'll save you - well, myself, really - that.

"Wait, Octavian," I say, not yell, because he's not actually that far away (apparently Octavian is a mega-slow walker) and I've already tarnished my reputation with a random kid I don't know; I don't want a bunch of _other_ random people to think I'm weird.

Octavian turns around instantly and asks, not the least bit annoyed, "What?"

"So I'll... I'll do this for you, okay?"

His pale lips curve into a smile and he says, "You will?"

"Well..." I rub the back of my neck. "Just this once, alright? I mean, I still don't support this, but..."

He thanks me profusely. "Thank you, Judy. I don't have a specific number for you to bring me - that would be asking a bit too much - so please, just bring however many you believe to be best. Again, you have my gratitude."

"It's no problem, Octavian. Well, it sort of is, but you don't need to thank me so much…"

"On the contrary, Judy. Well, I do need to go. I'll be seeing you." With that, he turns and leaves.

As I stare at his retreating back, I begin to wonder what persuaded me to say yes.

Well.

Too late now, right?

* * *

"Sam, _go away_. I have nothing to give you."

"My name's Mr. Tumnus, Susan. Now listen. I will die if I don't get any money. I will _starve_. Do you want me to _starve_ and _die_?" Susan rolls her eyes. "Lucy doesn't like this at all, Susan. Aslan does not appre-"

"Sam. Stop making pop-culture references and leave. I'm busy. Don't you see this arrow? I'm trying to make it hit that small circle over there. If you want, I can make it hit you. You're a _much_ larger target."

"And that's why you're not in _The L_ -"

"Hey, Susan! Hey, Mr. Tumnus! Here's a Coke can," I say, handing the faun said can. He smiles at me.

"Thank you, Lucy. See, Su-"

"Actually, Mr. Tumnus, I have to talk to Susan alone. So, bye!"

Mr. Tumnus sighs. "I can tell when I'm not wanted. But thank you, Lucy." He quietly walks away.

"So why does he call you Lucy?" Susan asks me when he's out of earshot. She picks up an arrow.

"Beats me. Why do you call him Sam? I just don't know what he's saying half the time."

She shoots the arrow and misses the target by a mile. "Crap." She looks at me. "His _name_ is Sam. You gotta stop leading him on, Judy. He's gonna start thinking you have money. You're always poor."

"Why do you care?" I ask. She shrugs and picks up another arrow. "Anyway, I've got cans! That's all the guy needs. Cans! He's half goat, it's fine!"

Susan snorts. "Yeah, where'd you get the Coke, anyway?"

"Some kid was eating lunch, left it unattended, so I took his Coke and finished it," I said. "Saved him calories. Real nice of me."

"You're gonna get mono or something, Judy. Watch out!" she sings childishly, holding the "out." She shoots and barely grazes the target.

"Nice," I say sarcastically.

"Yeah, like you can do better," she says, grabbing another arrow and preparing to shoot. "Okay, you can, but… Anyway, what'd you need to talk to me about? Should I be scared?"

"Hey, are you mad at me?" I ask her bluntly.

"Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" she asks, skillfully avoiding my question.

"Well, no, but, you know, it seemed like you were."

"Why would I be mad at you?" She shoots again and misses the target. "This is hard."

"Surprise, surprise. And you were, no offense, a jerk when we were hanging out with Taylor yesterday. To me. You were a jerk to me," I inform her.

Her face, very slightly, goes pink. "O- Oh… that… Well, let's just say… nothing. At all."

"You're totally in love with him!" I accuse her happily. "It's okay, he's very pretty. You know, he might be gay. Gotta be prepared for that."

"Hey! I'm not in love with him!" Susan very convincingly tells me. "And I've only talked to him, like, once. If I _did_ like him, it would be shallow feelings of infatuation. Mom says so. She knows everything. Anyway, I don't have shallow feelings of infatuation for Taylor."

"Totally."

"I'm mad at you now. You brought this on yourself."

"Hey, I was _kidding_!" I wasn't, but whatever. "I know for a fact that your feelings toward Taylor are completely - _completely -_ platonic."

"Thank you, Judy. All is forgiven." She laughs and picks up another arrow. "So what did you need to talk to me about, anyway?"

"About that... Could you do me a favor?" I ask. "I need you to steal me a bunch of stuffed animals."

Susan lowers her bow and turns to me, giving me a peculiar look. "Why, exactly?"

"Well, Octavian asked me to, and I felt for the guy, you know?" I explain.

"Gods, Judy, not _again_." Susan raises her bow and finally hits the target. The edge of the target, anyway. She sighs and picks up another arrow.

"Hey, I can help a guy out without…" I don't finish my thought. "Anyway, I was thirteen. I just saw _Titanic_! I was young and naïve!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not helping you help Octavian. He's a douche." I don't argue with her on this, mainly because I can't. "Steal it yourself; you had no problem with the Coke. You're a Mercury kid, remember?" She shoots the target and misses. Apparently the last one was sheer luck.

"How about this: if I hit a bulls-eye, you help me," I cleverly bargain with her.

"Uh, Judy, I've known you for two years. I kind of know you're good at archery. I don't know _why_ , but I know you _are_."

"C'mon. Please?" I ask.

Susan clicks her tongue. "Fine." She hands me her bow and an arrow.

I take them and get into stance, gripping the bow with my left hand and holding the arrow between my right middle and ring finger. I pull it back and aim, then let go. Dropping my stance, I say, "Ker-pow!"

"Nice, Judy. Nice," Susan says of my entirely appropriate sound effect. "Anyway, look, you were so close! But you failed."

I looked. The arrow's tip sat on the line between the bulls-eye and the surrounding ring. "That totally counts!" I reason.

"No, it doesn't," Susan says, quietly examining me. I know that look! Wait for it… "Fine, I'll help you anyway."

"Aw, Susan, you always come through!" I say, dropping the bow and arrow and hugging her.

Susan, despite appearances, is a very huggable person. She always hugs back. _Always_.

Yeah, that was a lie. "Stop hugging me," she says, and pulls away. "I'll help you later, okay?"

"Shake on it?" I ask, holding out my hand.

She shakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And so, he forgot, he forgot, maybe not..."  
> \- Ben Folds, "Annie Waits"


	4. In a Bad Situation

"Hey, Octavian!" I hear a voice say. I turn around to see that the voice belongs to Jose Williams, a son of Ceres and an acquaintance of mine in the Second Cohort. He is quite close to me, and possibly what could be classified as my "best friend" though I don't think of him as a friend. (Or a lover, so please remove your head from the gutter.)

Dad has said, "Make acquaintances, not friends." Now, what you're thinking is that it seems to be a terrible piece of character-building advice, but, pray tell, how is someone supposed to rise to power if people's feelings are in the way? Julius Caesar was murdered by Brutus, after all. And "Even you, Jose?" would be rather lacking last words.

I can read your thoughts; yes, I understand that Julius Caesar would still have been murdered if he wasn't a friend of Brutus. Still, his last words could have been something vastly more interesting than a statement of the obvious if he hadn't been.

However, I only don't care for friendship on an emotional level. I am a very social person. Friends share a give-and-take relationship. The key part of "give-and-take" is-

"Um… Octavian?" Jose asked.

I blink, realizing that I spaced out. It's rather uncharacteristic of me. "Ah, Jose, I apologize. What did you-"

"Let me guess: you're going through stuffed animal murder withdrawal?" Jose interrupts. I force a laugh, even though his joke is far from funny. Honestly, what does it take for people to realize that what I do is important? "Anyway, Cameron needs you to go teach the new recruits' archery class," he tells me.

I raise my eyebrows. "Me? I'm not the greatest at archery," I say. It's true; I am a _descendant_ of Apollo, not a child. My blood is rather diluted, so I don't exactly get the full benefits from being related to Apollo, although just a drop of his blood makes anyone who has it at least decent at archery. But don't think I'm unhappy with how the genes were passed; I prefer to have the powers of prophesying rather than the power of good handling of a bow and arrow.

Jose snorts. "Octavian, next to us non-Apollo descendants, you're awesome," he assures me.

"But there are better," I state truthfully.

"I'm just the messenger!" Jose exclaims, conveying the message _Stop arguing with me_ somewhat unsubtly. I don't say anything, and he gestures to my book. "Okay, I know for a fact you read that three times last summer. And you don't have to stay cooped up in the temple all day like you used to. Embrace your free time!"

"You're suggesting I embrace my free time by teaching rookies how to handle a bow and arrow rather than reread my favorite Shakespearean play?" I ask Jose skeptically.

He looks at me sheepishly. "Well, pretty much, yeah."

I sigh, close the book, and stand up. "Fine," I agree.

Jose grins widely. "You'd better hurry; the class starts in a little under a minute!"

"Why did you tell me so late?" I asked him agitatedly, sprinting to the archery field.

* * *

It seems I'm not so lucky to at least have an Apollo descendant in the class I've been forced to teach. Then again, I suppose an Apollo child wouldn't need an archery class.

But such information isn't relevant right now. The relevant information at the present is that nearly every single one of my students has horrible form, and even after correction, they cannot even _graze_ a target to save their life. Curse Lupa for thinking _every_ recruit must be trained to be able to use _every_ weapon decently. As of now, all of my students are hopeless. If they were armed with only a bow and arrow in battle, there would be at least a eighty percent chance that they would die… during the first eight minutes. However, the chances of a person being stranded in battle with only a bow and arrow are nearly zero.

I eventually decide to end the tedious process of correcting them one by one. "Stop shooting!" I command my students. All at once, they lower their bows. If only I were teaching a synchronized swimming class. "I don't mean to be blunt, but several of you - admittedly, most of you - are hopeless with a bow and arrow. Because of this… _misfortune_ , for the next five minutes, I will watch you shoot and weed out the non-archery-inclined, understand?" I put it gently; everyone attending the class was non-archery-inclined. Still, no one says anything. I assume that they understand and instruct them to shoot.

What happens next is abominable. The recruits start shooting so off target that they hit the targets of other people. No one I see shoots in anything nearly resembling a straight line. I sigh loudly, though I'm not exactly angry; when these recruits were _trying_ they still failed, though not as exaggeratedly as now. I presume that most of them want to end this torture, and if so, the feeling is more than mutual. "Stop shooting!" I repeat. They stop (in sync. Obviously, these people have a future in backup dancing). "If you don't wish to take this class, leave now. But not a word of this to Cameron or Lupa, understand?"

I get a scattered reply this time, most likely because I'm saying something they want to hear. The most common answer is split among, "Understood," and, "Who's Cameron?" Then, they proceed to leave. I hope this incident doesn't hurt my chances of becoming praetor in the future, but ending the sort of hell was worth it. I pick up my weathered copy of _Twelfth Night_ and start to leave.

"Octavian?" I hear a voice say behind me as I start to walk. I turn around, and see a tall, gangly (but in an appealing way, I suppose) blue-eyed redhead with a tiny presence. "I'm still here…" he mumbles.

"Now how did I miss you?" I wonder aloud. I try to remember how he well he was with an arrow...

And then I remember. This is the boy who couldn't even stay in the correct form for more than thirty seconds! Why is he still here? I voice my question.

"I… I want to…" He pauses, examining the ground, and then the sky, and then me. "I want to be able to shoot an apple off of someone's head."

I stare at him intensely, as if doing so will result in a vast understanding of why this most-likely Venus boy wished to shoot an apple off of someone's head. Naturally, this does nothing for my cause and only makes panic arise in him.

"You don't have to, though!" he exclaims nervously. "I can - It can wait!"

"What's your name?" I ask him. It's a question that came from left field, but it's better to ask now, instead of, say, halfway into the conversation.

"T-Taylor."

Something I simply cannot even _bring_ myself to understand is his stutter, his nervousness. It's a well-known fact that children of Venus are naturally flamboyant, self-confidence not even a question, so a boy like "T-Taylor" is rare among them. Of course, this is most likely only his human personality trait of timidity overshadowing his flamboyance (don't get me started on the irony), but the question still irks me: _what is this boy afraid of_?

And then I look at his blue eyes that simply scream _I am the offspring of Venus_ but are still filled to brim with fear, and I realize I've been glaring at the poor demigod for a long while. I can tend to give people menacing looks without trying. It's not a very helpful habit to have.

I break my gaze, politely smile, and ask, "Why, exactly, do you want to be able to shoot an apple off of someone's head?"

At that moment, Taylor spots an immensely interesting rock on the ground and decides to look at it and never cease. He mumbles something inaudible.

"I'm sorry; I didn't quite hear you. Could you repeat that?" I ask him, hoping I don't sound patronizing. In truth, it's nearly impossible to tell how the boy interprets life.

His cheeks color and I resist the urge to sigh. I'm losing patience. "The reason is kind of stupid," he says, significantly more audibly, but still not very audibly.

"But you still want to learn how to shoot an apple off of a head?" I clarify. He nods almost imperceptibly. It's taking all of my self-control not to grab Taylor by the shoulders and shake him while screaming, "I AM NOT GOING TO EAT YOU!" I look at him. "Well, you should tell me, then. I don't mind if the reason is stupid."

Actually, I do mind quite a bit, but that isn't what Taylor needs to hear.

"I have a friend… and she has a giant stash of candy…" Candy. Yes. I have reason to bring my hopes up.

"And she'll give it to you when you shoot an apple off of someone's head?" I interrupt him. Taylor is grateful for it, as am I; the boy speaks unrealistically slowly. He nods. "I don't mean to pry, but why does she want you to learn this?" I ask him.

"…She wants to say she's friends with someone who can shoot an apple off of someone's head," Taylor mumbles. I don't hear him, but I pretend that I do.

"It seems I can solve this problem," I tell him. "Do you happen to be in possession of an apple?"

"…no."

I tsk, but continue to fake a smile. "Well, then. Let's go find one."

Luckily, Taylor doesn't ask why I'm not giving him an archery lesson.

* * *

There's a ruckus taking place by the Fourth Cohort barracks. I realize this as Taylor and I make our way to retrieve an apple. Initially, I plan to ignore it, but I realize: what better way to better my reputation? The reason I didn't win when I ran for praetor last year was that a joker began calling me names such as "the teddy bear murderer," "the hermit," "too good to hang out with you unless you're filled with stuffing." (I resent the last one a great deal, although it is admittedly not a name.) This person ruined my reputation and lost me the election, but I still don't know it is.

Think of it: People would look and me think, "Look! There's Octavian **who is not a hermit** and calmly settled a fight by the Fourth Cohort!" Of course, that would only be the beginning. I would become known as a peacemaker, the person who settles disputes with ease; I don't imagine it would be too hard to make slogans out of it.

Not that I mean to get ahead of myself or anything.

With these thoughts in mind, I make a beeline toward the argument. I feel a tap on my shoulder and remember the mouse trailing behind me. "O-Octavian, w-what are y-you doing?"

I imagine he'll be afraid of such things, the poor boy. "Stay here. I'll just calm this fight down." I leave before he responds. I push and shove my way through the onlookers. The first person who catches my eye is Melina Matthews, a daughter of Mars who is usually surprisingly calm and docile for her parentage, unless you do something exceptionally wrong. It's a surprise to most that she came from an abusive household, but it becomes less surprising when one sees her lashing out at someone. "What seems to be the problem?" I ask her.

Melina's fists are clenched and it seems that she's only barely stopping herself from beating someone to a bloody pulp. I notice a small girl behind her, frowning, but quavering in fear. I remember her as Sierra Cooke, another new recruit that I haven't found out much about. Melina shouts, "It's them!" and points furiously at two girls opposing her, one of which cradling some kind of monster stuffed animal.

The girl with the stuffed animal is ridiculously familiar and so disappointing to see in the thick of this that I need to resist the urge to shake my head and walk away. When she sees me, she smiles nervously and forces out, "H-Hi, Octavian."

I can't hold in the sigh.

Between the frizzy brown twin braids, the dark, blank eyes, and the stained Camp Jupiter tee, there's no mistaking it.

This girl is Judy Calderon.

* * *

There are a few things you should know about Judy Calderon:

1) First, Judy is a vampire. …No, as you surely realize, that was something of a joke. But, by gods, she stalked like one. (Admittedly, this may be a bit of an exaggeration, but that is how it felt.) Whenever I spent time alone, Judy would always appear from thin air. Even if I was immersed in a book, she would still come up to me and say, "How are you hanging?" or something similar. Why, when I was trying to explain to the fauns why they shouldn't harass new recruits, or me, for that matter, she came up to me and asked, "What's up?" What did the girl expect me to answer? "Nothing, I'm just being harassed by fauns. How are you?"? Admittedly, this was a few years ago, and she's stopped spending time with me since then, but it was annoying nonetheless.

2) There was a part of her that thirsted for- Too much? In any case, another thing you should know about Judy is that she is about as sharp as a marble. When she first approached me, she made a pseudo-intellectual (at least, on her scale. I presume.) statement about Mercury (the planet) and oddness in science that was inherently false (the fact, not the science, surprisingly). To worsen it, she tends not to have much in the common sense department. (Honestly, if she did, she would not have attempted to initiate a conversation with me while I was being harassed by fauns.)

3) …Before you begin to expect it, no, I am neither unconditionally nor irrevocably in love with her. Nor am I in love with her. Nor do I love her as a friend. (I'd have expected you knew my feelings on friendship by now.) In actuality, what I'm going to tell has nothing to do with feelings. What I'm going to tell you is that I recently asked Judy to do a small favor, one that involves a number of misdemeanors, but not very big favor nonetheless, considering her ancestry. And before you begin to wonder about why I would choose this annoying girl lacking common sense to do something for me, allow me inform you: there's no one you can trust more than someone you have a one-sidedly embarrassing history with.

* * *

I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around to find Taylor, who disobeyed my orders. I can't say I mind very much, since it was more of a suggestion, but it seems very uncharacteristic of him. "Octavian!" Taylor whispers urgently, gesturing towards the area where Melina is pointing. "That's the girl with the stash of candy."

I glance at the area where he's pointing and spot Judy waving awkwardly to Taylor. "It's Judy?" I ask him.

"You know Judy?" Taylor asks me incredulously, as if it's the maddest thought in the world. I refrain from telling him that I know everyone, except for some of the new recruits, and simply nod. "But no. It's the girl standing next to her."

The girl standing next to her just so happens to be Susan Pearson, who Judy abandoned me for in the August of her first summer here. Not that I'm bitter about it, but it _was_ quite abrupt when she suddenly stopped being next to me every second I was outside of my barrack.

There's not much to say about Susan Pearson. She is merely your textbook Mercury child; she has a near-perfect home life compared to the others at Camp Jupiter, though I can't imagine that she has a wonderful relationship with her parents with so many misdemeanors on her record.

I tell Taylor, "So it's Susan, then," just to acknowledge him and turn to Melina and ask, "What did they do?"

"Those _bitches-_ " Melina begins.

I interrupt, "I would ask that you calm down and refrain from foul language."

Melina closes her eyes and breathes slowly in and out. "Those… _jerks_ stole Sierra's doll!"

I looked at Judy, carrying the monster doll and still wearing the tentative grin. I shook my head and faced Melina. "How do you know this?"

"I found Sierra balled up on her bed when I went to our barrack, and I asked her why she was so sad. So she said, 'I lost the doll my father bought me when he brought me to a toy store in New York when I was eight.'" I notice Judy shooting a glare at Susan as Melina says this. "I said, 'Don't worry. Come with me; let's go find it!' And then, almost the _second_ we left the cabin, I spot _these_ two girls standing two feet away from the door holding Sierra's doll!" Melina yells. I sigh again. Really, Judy is quite stupid, isn't she?

I turn to Sierra and ask her, "That's your doll?" Sierra jumps from surprise. Why are all the new recruits such wallflowers?

"Y-Yes. Unless that's, uh, just the same doll," she says.

Melina tsks. "Sierra, that's not very likely," she informs Sierra gently in a completely different tone than before. She pats her on the shoulder and turns to Judy and Susan, snarling, "Now give it back!"

"P-Please don't kill us!" Susan squeaks.

Judy's eyes dart around us, as if she were looking for exits. "We _were_ going to give it back!" Judy finally says. "I mean, we're not such horrible people that we're going to steal from a new recruit in the Fourth Cohort!"

"Are you insulting the Fourth Cohort?" Melina asks slowly and accusingly. "Are we _below_ you?"

"No! Not at all!" Judy says unconvincingly.

"Melina, calm down," I tell her. "And Judy?"

"Y-yeah, Octavian?" she asks.

"Give Sierra the doll. And try not to steal anymore, please."

"Uh... yeah," Judy agrees. She walks up to Sierra, Susan trailing behind her. "We really didn't mean to steal it from you," she tells Sierra.

"How did you not mean to steal it from her?" Melina asks. "Were you-"

"Melina," I say.

Melina sighs. Judy continues, "We didn't think it was so important to you. But now we know, so we're sorry." She hands Sierra the doll and smiles charmingly. "Do you forgive us?"

Sierra is entranced. She looks at the doll, and then back at Judy, and says, "Yes."

Judy's smile widens and it becomes more genuine. "Hey, thanks." She pats Sierra on the head. "See you around, huh?" Sierra nods.

Melina is noticeably peeved, but she says, "Come with me, Sierra. Let's go do something."

"Okay," Sierra says. "Bye!"

"Bye!" Judy says.

Once they're out of earshot, I say, "You handled that apology nicely."

Judy grins. "Heh, I know, right?"

"If only you could handle Melina that well, we wouldn't have this problem."

Susan, who is standing next to Judy, whispers something in her ear. Judy chuckles and then gives Susan a look. "We're _not_ fratboys!" I don't even wish to wonder what she said. "Oh, hi, Taylor."

I turn around to notice the boy is still behind me. Somehow without stuttering and audibly the first time, he replies, "Hi, Judy. Why did you steal that girl's doll?"

"Actually, I'm quite curious myself. Why did you choose to steal from a new recruit in the Fourth Cohort? That's quite cruel," I add, maneuvering the conversation away from the reason why she stole to the reason why she stole _from Sierra_.

"I agree, Octavian, that _is_ quite cruel," Judy says, nodding. "But you shouldn't be asking _me_. It was _all_ Susan."

Susan shoots a glare at Judy. "Look, I told you already, I didn't know where I was walking into! And it was the ugliest thing I've ever seen!"

" _That_ might be why the brand name is UglyDoll," Judy said patronizingly.

Susan crosses her arms. "You suck, Judy. Let it _go_!" Taylor laughs. "It's not _funny_ , Taylor!"

"Sorry, Susan," he apologizes.

I'm about to leave when Judy asks me something. "Anyway, Octavian, did you really mean what you said about not stealing?"

I scoff, "Of course not. But, I'd appreciate it if you didn't get caught."

Judy laughs awkwardly and looks at the ground. "I would, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "[T]here's no one you can trust more than someone you have a one-sidedly embarrassing history with."  
> \- Octavian, The Teddy Bear Murderer and the Daft Kelptomaniac
> 
> (Because I couldn't think of anything.)


	5. Meeting the BFFL

"Judy, I think that's enough," Susan says, leaning back on my bed until her head hits my pillow.

I'm thumbing through a sack that I filled with the stuffed animals Susan and I collected. As I look at their unrealistically adorable faces, I contemplate how Octavian killed these on a daily basis.

Suddenly, I see a bunny so awing that I take it out and show it to Susan. It's a brown knit bunny with black button eyes that should be creepy after watching _Coraline_ but are _so_ unmistakably _cute_. To top it off, it's got a top hat, a tuxedo jacket, and a freaking _monocle_. I sure as hell didn't steal it to be murdered by Octavian, and I have no idea why Susan thought that it would be fitting end for such an adorable animal. "Look at this, Susan! It's so _cute_! Why am I doing this?" I ask her, distressed. "Whatever, I'm keeping this. Things this cute shouldn't be slaughtered for a troll message from the gods."

Susan sits up and looks at the animal in my hands. She gives me a smile and says, "Sorry to say this, Judy, but that's not really a good idea. You know we got, like, ninety percent of these from Venus kids, right?" I nod. "Well, it just so happens that I happened to steal that from the queen of Venus girls: Brynne Ramsey."

Brynne Ramsey is a girl in the First Cohort, like me, but I don't really talk to her that often. She's probably the prettiest girl in the history of ever, which is cool, but she has the common personality flaw between beautiful people: she's kind of a - excuse my French - female dog. Sure, everyone's kind of a female dog but still, she's one around the clock. I don't hate her or anything, though, because her beauty is awing; it's like how you can't help but like Emma Stone or whatever. But she doesn't notice me or anything, because even though the First Cohort is the top, I'm at the bottom of the top, which, to her, means that I'm not really someone worth knowing.

"So?" I ask Susan, confused.

She rolls her eyes. "She'll see you with her wonderful monocled bunny and she'll sic some Mars kid on you or something. Seriously, she has almost as many contacts as Octavian!"

"Well," I begin thoughtfully, "that _is_ a lot, but I'm not going to let this work of art die by the soulless hands of Octavian!" I exclaim.

"Generally, hands don't have souls," Susan quips. "But she _will_ get you murdered if she sees it, you know, and word gets around fast..."

I snort and look Susan. "I'm not exactly the talk of the town, Susan," I say.

"Oh, think about it for a second, Jude," Susan says.

"Don't call me Jude, doucheface. That's a boys' name, and I am not a boy!" Before you ask, I'm not insecure about my gender. I just hate the name Jude because my mother used to cut my hair really short when I was in elementary school (presumably because she's both tasteless and heartless) and my brothers kept calling me Jude as a "joke." So it's not gender insecurity, but traumatic memories of gender insecurity.

I've told Susan the story before, but she thought the whole thing was stupid because I "cared too much about what people thought about me," like my brother's opinions are unimportant (which they are, but that doesn't exactly help my case). I once tried to argue with her that _she's_ the one who gets all riled up after I jokingly mock her for stealing my pants (which, like I said, she doesn't actually do)/being from Hicksville/making stupid jokes, but she replied with, "At least I don't get emotional when I'm _reminded_ about people making fun of my _hair_." Honestly, she just doesn't get these things. And in my opinion, getting emotional about pants and "your mom" joke criticisms is way more stupid than getting emotional about hair. (And my opinion is correct ninety-nine point nine repeating percent of the time.)

Still, we've gotten into enough arguments about the nickname "Jude" that she usually remembers not to call me it, but it seems she has _forgotten._

Susan gives me a disapproving look for a few seconds, shakes her head, and then says, "Your mom's a doucheface." I don't say anything, but give her a _don't even start_ glare. Susan isn't fazed, but she moves off the "your mom" jokes quickly. "Anyway, when Brynne realizes she lost her bunny, she's going be like, 'Oh my _gods_ , I, like, totally lost my, like, awesome, bunny!' and _meanwhile_ everyone sees your bunny that somehow matches the exact thing Brynne lost."

I wave her comment off and roll my eyes in a fashion that says, _Silly Susan, you are ridiculously silly with your silly ideas that are ridiculously silly and ridiculous_. "Psh. Then I'll just give it back to her."

Susan looks at me. She _really_ looks at me. While she examines at me, she starts scrunching up her face oddly. After an awkward silence, she says, "Seriously?"

Something you should know is that Susan hates Brynne very, very much. Whenever Brynne does something that isn't selfless, compassionate, and heartwarming, Susan tends to go, "What a _female dog_." Except she replaces the words "female dog" with the swear word, because she's a very crude fifteen year-old.

Anyway, I think it started this time Susan said hi to Brynne, but she didn't notice and just kept walking, and Susan took it as a personal insult. Susan can be petty, especially if you're the prettiest, most perfect person ever and kind of a female dog. (Actually, it's an idea that just came to me, but she might have hated her before the incident.)

Still, Susan's petty disdain for Brynne shouldn't cloud her morals and make her think that one of the best things in the world should be destroyed just because it may make the object of her loathing slightly depressed. "It's better than _killing_ it!" I say, voicing my opinion.

Susan tsks, and rolls her eyes. "Whatever, Judy." Her morals are still clouded, but I move on.

"Anyway, what were you talking about before I brought up this bunny business?" I ask her.

Susan brings a hand to her chin and starts thinking. After a short silence, she asks, "Oh, yeah. Isn't this enough? I mean, we filled the whole thing up. Practically. Plus, hasn't it been like, two weeks since Octavian asked you? You should give it to him."

"Yeah, you're right. But I am _not_ giving him Monocle Buddy."

"I _don't care_ , Judy."

* * *

After walking around the camp aimlessly for fifteen minutes, I finally spot someone I was looking for. Unfortunately, it's not Octavian, but it _is_ Jose Williams, who's Octavian's BFFL or something. It's just the back of his head, but Jose is the only person at camp with such horribly highlighted hair. "Jo-" I start to call. "-ly crap! Is this a bad time?"

This huge kid - huge, _huge_ kid - has Jose up against the wall (not like _that_ ) and fists raised. Jose grins at me and says nervously, "No, this is a great time!" His eyes dart from the guy about to beat the crap out of him and me.

"Should you be doing that?" I ask the huge kid. "I mean, I don't know… It doesn't look right."

He glares at Jose, looks at me, glares at Jose, and looks at me again. "Back off," he says gruffly. "This is between _me_ and _him_."

I consider it; I really do consider it. But I don't leave anyway, because what kind of karma would that bring me? "Funny coincidence," I say pseudo-confidently, "because there's something between me and him, too! And-"

I see that Jose is giving me a strange, strange look, and I realize what I implied. Before I can correct my mistake, the huge kid brings his fist down on Jose's face, yelling, "You da-"

"Not like that!" I interrupt him. "Anyway, the thing between him and me _that isn't like that_ is decidedly more urgent than this fight thing you guys have going on right now, so you should postpone, or better yet, cancel!"

I smile at him as charmingly as possible, but he doesn't move an inch. "This _isn't your business_ ," he repeats, gritting his teeth.

I try to smile wider, but it isn't working. I try to think of something. "Oh really?" I ask, stalling.

"Don't listen!" Jose pleads. This _is_ your business!" He mouths _please help me_. Finally, my lip-reading skill has become handy outside of school! Though that isn't what I should be worried about right now.

The huge kid introduces his huge, scary fist to Jose's face and snarls, "Shut up!" Jose whimpers pathetically in response.

Finally, _something_ hits me. "Well. I'll just go and tell Cameron, then, alright?" I say.

"Who the hell is Cameron?" he asks me. Every part of me simultaneously goes _Craaaaap_ , but the gods turn out to be on my side, and the huge kid lets go of Jose. He gives me an exceedingly strange look and shakes his head. "Fuck this. I'm not dealing with you." I try not to look relieved, but the huge kid doesn't care anyway. He turns to Jose and says, "I won't forget this!" surprisingly not shaking a fist in the air, and then he makes his dramatic exit.

Jose turns to me. His face isn't that bruised, for some reason, and he grins at me. "So, do I know you?" he asks me.

"No… but I would have hoped you'd have seen me around," I reply, shaking my head. "But anywa-"

"I know who you are!" he interrupts me. "You're that girl that sta- I mean, thanks for saving me."

"Yeah," I agree. "Anyway, do you-"

"Well?" he says vaguely.

I eye him, as if that'll help me understand what he's talking about. Needless to say, the plan fails. "What?"

"Aren't you at least a _little_ bit curious?" he asks me.

Well, now I'm slightly curious about what I should be curious about, but I'm mostly curious as to why he interrupted me with vagueness. "About what?" I ask.

"Why he was beating me up!" he says, as if it was obvious, which it clearly wasn't.

"Well," I begin, "not really. I kind of wanted to ask-"

"Alright, then," he says. "If you want to play it that way."

"Yeah," I say. "So, do you know where Octavian is?"

"Am I my friend's keeper?" he asks me. "I've got no idea where he is! He could be anywhere now that he's not holed up in the temple every day."

I give him a look, but I don't say anything. The silence speaks for itself.

"Did you check his barrack?" he asks, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

I hold my gaze until I realize that I didn't. "No, actually."

Jose grins. "You know, he probably _isn't_ in his barrack. He never stays inside a place that isn't a temple for a long time." He shrugs. "He's repetitive, though. On Mondays, he goes here, Thursdays, he goes there, Fridays, he goes, uh… somewhere."

"Why'd you bring it up, then?" I ask. "And that train of thought didn't make sense! You can't go from Monday to Thursday. If the week worked like that, I'd have a much happier school year!" I say.

"Whatever. So what I'm saying is, I _could_ help you look for him," he says.

"That's great! Let's go!" I say. I really didn't want to waste my free day just _looking_ for Octavian.

"But I don't know, I'm kind of busy…" he says, shrugging.

"So you can't?" I ask, giving him a strange look. Why is Jose giving me mixed signals? Can I go do something productive?

"I _could_ …" he repeats uselessly and vaguely. "But I am kind of busy, you know."

I get the strange urge to punch him in the face, but I resist it. "Okay, then…" I trail off. "I'll just go," I say, turning around. I begin walking away, but then I remember something and start to turn around. "Actua-"

"Wait!" Jose says at the same time as me, effectively cutting me off. "I was going to imply that you should ask me why he was beating me up!"

"What?" I say, confused. "…You're terrible at implying!" I exclaim after a short silence.

"Hmph," Jose says. "I was building up to it! Do you understand anything?"

I glare at him. "You're a jerk, and I'm leaving," I declare, and I start to turn around.

"Wait!" he says again. "I'll come with you! I can help you find Octavian, remember? But ask me why I was-"

" _Why was that kid beating you up_?" I finally interrupt him.

Jose runs up next to me and grins. "It's a long story," he says as we walk. "Are you sure you want to hear it?" I turn to face him and give him a look. He isn't fazed. "If you're so insistent! Well, it starts when I saw this girl…"

* * *

"And that's when he walked in!"

"That's a terrible story! _Why_ did I need to hear it?"

"Are you kidding me? I'm so bad! All the girls will want me!"

"Yeah, if they've got mental issues! That's incredibly sleazy!"

"I'm _wounded_."

* * *

"Where are we walking?" I finally asked Jose after walking in a strange, wayward path for twenty minutes.

He gives me a sheepish smile and says, "I have a knack for finding Octavian when I wander."

I stop walking and face him. " _What_?"

"I have a knack for-"

"You mean you don't actually have any idea where he is?" I ask him. "So I had to listen to your scarring story for… nothing?"

"It's not scarring!" Jose says. "Anyway, I _do_ have a knack for finding Octavian."

"But we've been walking for twenty minutes!" I try to reason with him. I honestly can't believe this guy. I mean, I save his butt from Giant McScaryPants and he thanks me by lying to me and telling me weird stories?

Honestly, I don't think that's sufficient thanks.

"And there's Octavian now!" Jose says, nodding to a spot behind me.

I spin around for half a second and see absolutely nothing. "There's nothing there!"

"Ha! Made you look!" he says, and I almost give in to the punching urges.

"I'm le-"

"-is what I would say if he _wasn't_ right behind you. Are you blind or something?" he asks me. I spin around again, and I see Octavian a couple dozen feet away and coming toward me and Jose.

I remember Jose, and in a rare moment, a clever comeback enters my brain. No matter the delay, no one has said anything yet, so I turn to him and quip, "I'd rather be blind than look at your stupid highlights!" His mouth opens and he runs his fingers through his hair, and he looks genuinely offended. I remember how I get offended when people call me "Jude" and guilt instantly washes over me. "I'm sorry; I didn't really mean that. It sounded clever," I explain.

A series of emotions flash across his face, but he finally settles on keeping it in a grin. "No problem, Jude, just don't diss the hair again and it'll be fine."

 _Does he know?_ _He does, doesn't he? That stupid jerk! I apologize and he freaking-_

"Judy," I hear Octavian's voice say behind me, and I turn around. "Jose. I wasn't aware you two knew each other."

The awkwardness in this situation for Octavian must be over the roof, and the thought sends me into a burst of giggles. Of, at least, it _would_ , if I was five and had no self-control at all. Luckily, that's not the case.

But still - people from two parts of your lives meeting? Fah! Hilarious! …ly awkward. Good thing I'm not Octavian. (Although _I_ was the one who stopped hanging out with him.)

"Oh, not really," I say. "I was just looking for you, and Jose was helping me. Sort of. Thanks, Jose! I'll see you later."

"That's cold," Jose comments, but he doesn't move an inch.

"You can, uh, leave now. If you… want? That'd be great," I suggest.

"Nah, I'm fine," Jose says nonchalantly.

"Never mind that," Octavian says. "Why were you looking for me?"

"Oh, well, I finished doing the thing. You don't need my help anymore, right?" I hold up the gigantic sack and start to hand it to him. Octavian takes one look at it and makes a strange face, and his cheeks lightly tint themselves pink.

"Are you- Are you sure that's for me?" he seemingly forces out. "I think you may have brought the wrong sack." He's trying to talk normally, but he's failing miserably, and I don't see what all the fuss is about. Jose doesn't either, so he moves next to Octavian and looks at the bag, too.

"Holy shit! How were you walking around with that without me noticing? That's… what the _hell_? Why do you… _keep_ them? Is it for a project or something? That's one freaky project."

"Don't be stupid, Jose. It's obviously… some kind of joke," Octavian says, the distress in his voice increasingly clear.

"That's one awkward joke!" Jose exclaims.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I announce, and I turn the bag around so I can see the side facing them. At the sight of what Susan wrote down _ages_ ago, my cheeks heat up, and I sputter, "It _is_ a joke! Why would I… Why would I keep this many? That's _creepy_! I'm not some kind of hoarder of… my own personal items! Susan just wrote this down a long time ago… and I never crossed it out. I couldn't find the time to find a Sharpie!"

Octavian tries to recover himself, and says, "Y-Yes. What is in the sack?"

"I told you already: the _stuff_ ," I say."Remember when you asked me to do the thing?"

"Ah, yes, the thing," Octavian says. He takes the bag from me, opens it, and breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank you very much, Judy."

"No problem," I say reflexively. "Well, it was kind of a problem, and I'd like it if you didn't ask me to do it again, but yeah. And hey, if you need any other favors that don't involve immorality, you can ask."

"Thank you again, Judy."

"It's all right, man. It's all right."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Just in time I will save the day."  
> \- _Glory of Love_ , Peter Cetera


	6. Arrows and Unnecessary Mentionings

I groan, staring down at the fluffy white cotton below me. What is this, the fifth meaningless message I've received?

I fling the remains of the generic white "I love you" bear into the ever-growing pile at the corner of the temple. For a short moment, I consider leaving the temple to perform a task with a higher probability of being productive, but I quickly dismiss the thought. Doing so would be what is classified as giving up, and giving up is not what Apollo descendants - especially _my_ line of Apollo descendants - are apt to do.

But what am I doing, really? Wasting my time here, isn't it? Honestly, I've been here for a while.

 _Please_ , I pray, _give me_ something _, anything! Just to make this worth it_.

I look up at the ceiling, as if it'll tell me whether or not my impromptu prayer was listened to. All I see is the regular temple ceiling, of course, but it somehow fills me with hope. Because, you know, this may be it. Perhaps they're done with they're joking; perhaps they'll be so amazed at my humility and perseverance that they'll think, _What horrible gods we have been to do this to the poor, humble boy! We must remedy this at once!_ Yes, it's a blind hope - which, I admit, I nearly never have - but what have I to do?

I take a toy from the sack sitting by my feet without sparing it very much of a glance, preferring to think of my eventual decision, though there wasn't very much I could contemplate. I lay the toy on the altar and pick up my knife -

 _Funny. It's a cat,_ I think out of the blue. The fact isn't very funny at all, in truth, whether it be funny meaning strange, or funny meaning humorous, but I pause nonetheless. There is no conscious reason. The _actually_ funny thing is that Judy's face flashes through my mind. How long ago was it, in any case? Two or three years? Or is it more? Perhaps the better question is: Why does it even matter?

Indeed, that was an odd distraction. Of course, it's not as if I'm due for anything - dinner is in a good number of hours - but why did I stop? Have I been spending too much time with Judy?

Well, if that's the case, it's no longer an issue. (Though, honestly, it didn't present that much of a problem.) All the time I've spent with her in the past was only because of necessity. She'll fade back into the mere memory she used to be in no time. It's not as if she'll think we're _friends_ now... correct?

I groan to myself as I realize that what I've just assured myself she probably would not do was exactly what is in her character to do. She _was_ remarkably clingy in the past.

That makes me wonder, however: why am I so worried about it? Honestly, what will she be taking away from? My (usually unsuccessful) attempts to prophesy in the temple? And it's not as if she'll lower my social status and cause people to stop liking me. Yes, for a member of the First Cohort, she isn't as popular as the others around Camp Jupiter (She's astoundingly mediocre and sometimes, just a _bit_ below.), but she is not as bad as Jose, who is disliked by a large number of (notedly unimportant) people at the camp.

Yes, I'm thinking very hard over absolutely nothing. It would be fine if Judy would become my friend. It still puzzles me why I would think about at the sight of a stuffed cat, but I am completely certain it means nothing. Really, what _would_ it mean? I'm secretly in love with her?

I chuckle to myself and look at my knife. Well, no use delaying any longer. Filled with a surge of determination, and the tiniest bit of hope, I bring the knife to the stitches along the cat's stomach and begin to -

"Hi, Octavian!" I hear, the voice breaking my concentration - not to mention ruining the mood - and causing my knife to clatter onto the altar.

* * *

Despite the cheerful greeting he gave when he entered, the interrupting mood-destroyer is now staring at the ground, twiddling his bony fingers, obviously trying to say something.

"Taylor," I say slowly, doing my best not to sound annoyed, "what are you doing here?"

"I…" Twiddle, twiddle. "Well, you never… Uh… taught me how to shoot. Apples.. Off of someone's head.." He mumbles something so quickly and quietly that I don't bother to strain my ears to hear him, and only raises his voice to bare audibility at the end to say, "But if you're busy I can leave! I didn't want to interrupt you! Judy just said, uh… it was okay. Because you do this every day the whole summer and one afternoon is nothing. But that's what Judy said! I don't, uh, really agree… You don't even have to teach me anything! I can just le-"

"I'm sorry, Taylor, but I didn't hear what you said you want me to teach you." I interrupt him, because although he's now able to speak in complete sentences without hesitation - fast speed aside - he is going in circles.

"Oh, could you, uh… the apple, do you remember? I want to shoot it off someone's… head?"

"Honestly, Taylor, you would be better off asking another Apollo descendant," I tell him, hoping what I'm saying will work. It _is_ the truth, after all. "I'm a good number of generations down, and my blood is very diluted. Someone else would be a much better teacher."

"Um… um! That could be true, Octavian - uh, no offense - but I'm actually… I'm not very good at talking to new people…" he says, and it isn't a surprise. I take a second to figure out how to respond.

"Well, Taylor, I really am sorry, but I _am_ quite busy," I say, admittedly lying, though it _is_ just a little white lie.

He does not respond how I expected.

What I expected was him to stare at his feet, say something along the lines of "okay", then turn and exit the temple, leaving me at peace with my stuffed animal carcasses and knives.

What he does is say, "But Judy said… you do the same thing every day! And that an afternoon would mean nothing compared to the rest of the summer!"

And it turns out that I was correct in my initial assumption that Judy would be a hindrance. Though I'm not sure which of the evils she has brought upon me was worse: the clingy friendship, or the siccing of pathetic sons of Venus upon me. It takes me a minute to realize that it doesn't matter and I shouldn't be mulling over such a thing at a time like this.

"And I thought you said you disagreed?" I reply calmly, shaking all thoughts of Judy of her evils from my mind.

Why does this boy want to do this so much? Is it really for... what was it...? A bag of candy? It occurs to me to ask, but right now I am going to focus on removing this boy from the temple; perhaps if he does somehow succeed in roping me into this once more (which he won't), I may express my curiosity, but as I said, I am almost completely certain that he, in fact, will not.

"But... Octavian... Please?" he seemingly forces out.

"Taylor, I have more important things to do," I cut in before he can say anything more. To soften the blow, I add, "Now, I don't mean to say that you learning to shoot arrows off of people's heads is unimportant" - but it is - "but the truth of the matter is that these things I have to do simply exceed the importance of you learning how to shoot."

"I really need to learn this!" he says, once again demonstrating his surprising unwillingness to leave me alone.

"Look, Taylor," I begin, "if this is only about the candy, I will ask someone to get you some. After all, you're only a child of Venus, you're not cut out for archery."

He mumbles something I don't understand, and I debate with myself whether or not I should ask him to clarify it. Before I can reach a decision, however, he says, "My dad… he thinks I'm too… feminine. And maybe… if I learn this… I can prove him… wrong."

My mother died when I wasn't even a toddler, and I see my father roughly once a year, for about a day. My sob story is sadder than yours, please leave.

Of course, I can't actually say this to the baby-faced, pathetic boy standing in front of me, so I think of what to settle for.

More than that, on the topic of thinking, why is he convinced that learning archery will make his father like him? Really, if he wishes to be more masculine, shouldn't he be pulling weights or whatever it is? Shooting arrows, specifically shooting arrows at apples on people's heads, is an outdated and somewhat useless skill in the mortal world. Telling bullies that you can shoot arrows exceedingly well does not scare them and stop them from beating you up (and I do not speak from experience, thank you very much).

(It should be noted that telling said bullies that your father is the CEO of a wildly successful credit card company _that they've heard of_ does stop them from harassing you any longer.)

(Or so I assume, for none of this has ever happened to me.)

Having muscles, however, and not being a meek, lanky pushover, _is_ a useful trait that will scare off most threatening people.

I'm honestly not sure if this boy is lying or simply misguided. But, I suppose, it doesn't matter. With his personality and my silver tongue, he'll be gone very, very soon.

* * *

"Umm… uh… Thanks, Octavian. A lot. I don't know why Susan hates you so much, you're really nice!"

I take a minute to place the Susan he's talking about, who I find to be Susan Pearson. I honestly don't know why Susan Pearson dislikes me, and I honestly don't care. She has virtually no social standing at Camp Jupiter.

What I am really preoccupied with at the moment is what made me help Taylor Shea with his dreams of archery.

* * *

I had already had him turning tail and leaving the temple. He was disappointed, needless to say, but he had finally finished his arguing. I had made my way to the altar as quickly as possible and the knife was in my hands when I looked into the plush kitten's eyes.

I hated this kitten. All it did was make me question decisions I was previously completely sure of. But I admit that this time, it was a good thing that it did so.

The eyes - the soulless, dark, plastic eyes - seemed to say, _Octavian, don't be so heartless. Go help that boy with his daddy problems!_

It was a strange thing to imagine a plush cat's eyes saying, but it was at this moment that I began to consider doing what the boy had asked me.

It was at that moment that I began to consider doing what the boy had asked me and realized that it actually was, in fact, a worthwhile thing to do.

"Taylor. I'll teach you."

* * *

Of course, an explanation is necessary. Why is this so worthwhile? And if it's so worthwhile, why did I initially try so hard to remove Taylor from the temple?

Taylor Shea is a Venus descendant, which means he is very, very pretty. That fact, coupled with his innocent, gentle personality, makes him almost instantly likable to very many people. If people see me helping the boy learn archery and how he thinks I am a very nice person, they may think higher of me and even support me when I run for praetor. Conversely, if he's seen leaving the temple I visit daily with such a depressed demeanor, some people may be able to put two and two together and think worse of me. After some thought, it is very plainly obvious that I _should_ help this boy. As for why I tried so hard to make him go away, it is solely because I was not happy to see him come in and ask for something after he interrupted my moment of truth.

"Octavian?" I hear Taylor say, snapping out of my thoughts. I really ought to stop thinking so hard about things that I forget about reality. "Are you okay? You've haven't said anything for a while. Or commented on my shot. It _was_ pretty good, right?"

I look at the target sitting a good number of feet away from Taylor. It's a terrible shot, but only for a decently skilled archer. For Taylor, this is the best shot he has ever performed in his short life. For one thing, the arrow is _on_ the target. "Don't worry, Taylor, I was only thinking. And this shot is surely commendable. I really think you've improved in the ten minutes we've been practicing."

He beams, and I suppose it's rather cute. His face _is_ part of the reason I'm actually helping him. "Thanks!" he says. He shoots again, the arrow actually grazing the target, and I praise him for it. I also say something about how we can't always win. He is still a little disheartened by it, though.

He shoots again, and it's gotten a bit better. He grins, and before I can think of how to praise him, he says, "Hey... Octavian?"

"Good shot, Taylor. What is it?" I ask.

"I... umm... uh... I wanted to..." he mumbles, and I interrupt him.

"It's fine. Just say what you need to say. I promise not to respond badly." I can't think of what he has to say, but it can't be _too_ bad if it's coming from a person like Taylor.

He looks at the ground, remembers he has a bow in his hand, shoots, and then quickly forces out, "I wanted to know how you know Judy." The shot is probably his worse today, and it's not hard to imagine why.

Judy is coming up too much today, considering I haven't seen her for such a long while. It's annoying. Is this my punishment for trying to keep good terms with a girl in my cohort who has a somewhat famous mother? Really, no good deed... "Not to go back on my word, but why are you curious about such a thing?"

He repeats his look down-realize there's a bow in your hands-shoot cycle and says, "Uh... You don't _have_ to... answer... or anything... I mean..."

"It's fine, Taylor, I'll answer your question, but I'm really only curious as to why you are curious." I realize that the arrow he shot while mumbling landed in a place surprisingly close to the bulls-eye. "And that was an amazing shot; do you think you could do it again? Not to pressure you."

"Uh... Maybe," he says, not looking very sure of himself at all. "And... I was curious because... Judy talks about you sometimes... Uh, not like we talk about you... Just if you come up... and when we talk about you... she acts like... she's an... expert."

"Why didn't you ask Judy?" I ask him. I honestly am not sure how to respond to what he told me about Judy.

"I have..." he says, picking up an arrow from the quiver laying on the ground. "...She only says as little as she can."

"Which is?" I ask, buying time until I can figure out what to tell him.

"'I knew him.'"

Judy... she isn't subtle. She isn't subtle in the least. And now Taylor thinks we have a crazy history filled with both drama _and_ secrets. "I'm afraid this won't be as interesting as you might have imagined, Taylor."

"I... didn't imagine anything!" he says, obviously lying. "So you're wrong. Uh, no offense." He gets into position and shoots the arrow. I don't watch where it lands.

"Well then... Judy and I? We were friends," I say, and it's the truth. The plain and simple truth, in less than five words.

"That's it?" he asks me, confused and a little disappointed. It isn't surprising.

"I don't want to say I told you so, but I have. Told you so, that is." He's pouting, and people might think I made him upset, but honestly, I am willing to sacrifice that for saying as little as Judy as possible. I'm tired of how much she has come up, for the simple person she is. But I look at his face once more and feel as if I have kicked a puppy. "I'm only joking. Don't be so upset."

"I'm not upset," he says. "But... why wouldn't Judy just tell me you were friends? Does she really not like me deep inside?"

The bow is on the grass next to the quiver, laying forgotten, and I'm left with an insecure, depressed pretty boy, and I realize that I have to do what I really wished to avoid: elaborate. "Taylor, I'm sure Judy likes you. It's only that when we were friends, she was extremely clingy, and she might find that embarrassing."

Taylor isn't sad or insecure anymore. Instead, his face shows only one expression: deep thought. "Clingy..." he says to himself. "And she's embarrassed about it... Oh!" He grins, very widely, and he breaks into laughter. "I get it now! Wow..."

"Taylor, I'm afraid I'm not following you."

He grins even more widely at me and says, "It's nothing. I'll see you around, Octavian."

And then he walks away laughing, leaving me with a bow and quiver on the ground and extreme confusion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He can see though everything but my heart."  
> \- "I'd Lie", Taylor Swift
> 
> (Because I CAN.)


	7. Secrets and Unorthodox Heroism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some development in Octavian and Judy's relationship in this chapter! This story is the closest I've touched upon romance before... I hope it's believable!
> 
> Another thing: bad Pokemon reference is bad. I love Pokemon, though, to anyone who gets offended by the reference. And before you ask how someone can be offended by a reference... read the chapter first, haha.
> 
> Please read and review!

"How did your date with Octavian go?" Susan asks Taylor, sounding just the _tiniest_ bit annoyed. Okay, forget tiniest, she's kind of really annoyed.

Honestly, I have no idea why she dislikes Octavian so much. He's nice! I mean, a little power-hungry, and yeah, a couple of people from the lower cohorts call him ruthless, but that's probably just a rumor. I can remember no such instance of him ever being ruthless to anyone _I_ know.

Well, there _was_ the "you owe me" thing a while ago, but that totally wasn't serious. I mean, he took it back, right?

Yeah, he's a pretty good guy.

"It was great," Taylor responds, smirking, which is something I have never seen him do before. Strangely enough, despite his normally shy and naïve demeanor, it seems at home on his face.

Suddenly, I remember a comment he made when I first met him that utterly confused me: " _Dad just told me, 'Taylor, go in the forest and look for wolves. If you find them, pretend you're tough. Don't give them your sass.'"_

Are these his true colors? …Smirking? Well, at least I know he's opening up to us… Though I thought he already opened up to us when he stopped stuttering everything that came out of his mouth.

…Wait, why did he smirk when Susan asked how his _date_ with _Octavian_ went?...! "Taylor, you mean you really-"

The smirk on his face disappears as soon as it appeared, and he exclaims, "No! It's not that at all!"

"So what was the smirk for, Dream Boat?" Susan asks.

"...Dream Boat?" I say subconsciously. _Is she coming to terms with her shallow feelings of infatuation?_ I ask myself, despite the obvious sarcasm. _Awww..._

"...It sounded funny in my head," Susan admits quietly. She moves her gaze from me to Taylor, who is looking anxiously at me and Susan, most likely because we're both staring him down. "So, _Dream Boat_... What was up with the smirk?"

And then, freaking son of Venus, he smirks! "I just happened to learn something pretty interesting..." he says all nonchalantly, even though it's completely obvious that he wants to tell us.

"Well, don't leave us hanging, Taylor," Susan says. "What's oh-so-interesting?"

"Well..." Taylor leans over, hides his lips, and starts to whisper in Susan's ear.

"Hey, I don't get the right to know?" I protest.

"I'll tell you after I tell Susan. It's a _secret_ ," he says scandalously. "I can't just blurt it out. What if someone hears?"

Well, Taylor is quite the expert on secrets, isn't he? I bet he's that guy at school who knows everything about everyone. Man, I thought I knew this kid… And there's also the fact that he just learned this secret and is immediately telling us. He didn't even tell us we couldn't tell anyone! Note to self: never tell Taylor anything remotely private. Though there aren't a whole lot of people he can tell… I think he did make friends with that little Fourth Cohort girl from a while ago… Sierra? But that doesn't really matter to me right now.

I fidget as I watch Taylor telling his little secret to Susan. Couldn't he tell _me_ first? I was the first one to be friends with him at Camp Jupiter, and he has to tell _Susan_ first? I mean, yeah, they're super-soulmates and whatever, but c'mon! Lame…

What _is_ the secret, anyway? Well… he learned it while hanging out with Octavian, so maybe it's Octavian's secret? Ha, I bet that guy's got a million skeletons in his closet (although I still stand by the belief that he's really a nice guy). It'd be nice to find one of them. I'm kind of curious as to how he let one of them slip to Taylor in the couple of hours that they hung out together, while _I_ learned next to nothing about him in the half summer we were BFFLs.

Well, Taylor _is_ going to tell me, anyway. All I'm going to say is that secret better be freaking interesting.

Finally, Taylor finishes whatever he was saying and pulls away from Susan, grinning the hugest grin I have ever have seen on a living person. However, Susan's expression is screaming "unamused", and she says, her voice brimming with sarcasm, "Nice secret, Taylor. Too bad I've known it since the beginning of time."

The normal, little and shy Taylor has come back for a visit. "…But… how?"

"Magic," Susan says, not kindly, and effectively being a jerk to the love of her life. I mean, I've known her a while, but I always wonder why she feels the need to be mean to someone she likes. What was it, a reflex or whatever?

Susan finally picks up on the poor kid's face - although I bet it'll change back into Smirkkitty McSmirk in a flash - and amends, "Well, okay, it's actually understandable that you don't know, since you weren't here a couple of years ago. It was kind of obvious then. So… you can be happy now."

"Okay, guys," I finally chime in. " _What_ was obvious a couple of years ago? _What_ is the secret? C'mon, tell me!"

Susan shakes her head and says overdramatically, "Judy… I think this is just one of those things you don't have to know. I mean, you _do_ know it, deep down, but you need to _realize_ it on your own. If we just tell you, straight-out… things won't work out. I'm sorry."

"Susan, you're not being funny; just tell me! Please?"

"No. Let's talk about something else. How was your day, Judy?"

"Please?"

"No. And my day sucked, I had to do a plethora of either unfun or uninteresting things. Yours, Taylor?"

"Pleease?"

Taylor obviously doesn't enjoy being put up on the spot like this, but he eventually decides on siding with Susan (because he's a total doucheface traitor) and says, "I had a good day. I hung out with Octavian."

"Plleeaasse?"

"How was it?"

"Plllllleeeeeeaaaaassse?"

"He was nice."

"Plll-

" _Godsdammit_ , Judy, I'll tell you later!"

I wonder whether or not I should negotiate this, and eventually decide that doing so would be a great idea. "Tell me _nooow_ ," I demand in the least whiny way possible.

"Maybe I should just tell her, Susan," Taylor says. "She _does_ know…"

Susan gives Taylor a look, a look that says, _Really? You're just going to give in like that? Classic Taylor Shea,_ and then she sighs, and says, "I'll handle it."

She then leans over and whispers something so ridiculously stupid in my ear (although I give her credit for actually remembering to make it about Octavian) that I rip my face away from her cupped hand and slug her a good one. Well, okay, it was pretty weak and I put no power into it, but the point is that I punched her.

"Screw you, Susan!" I then exclaim, f-the-world determination flowing through my veins. "And whatever. I don't care about whatever totally awesome secret you guys shared."

"Judy, it's not like it was anything special. I mean, you heard it yourself."

"What did you say, Susan? Was it 'Oh Judy, please punch me again'?" I ask. "Sure!"

Susan then blocks my slow hit and somehow steers the conversation back to random bits of information she picked up about other people at camp. Simply put: gossip.

Man, she and Taylor are a match made in heaven. Or possibly the deepest depths of hell. Whatever.

I wonder what the secret _really_ was.

I mean, seriously.

Why would Taylor be so excited about Octavian kicking puppies?

* * *

I like cloud-watching, just staring at the white fluffy cotton balls floating across the bright sea of blue. It makes the sky look like a painting; it's nature's form of art, like the forests and flowers, but somehow prettier.

This is what I'm going to say if someone from the strategy meeting comes for me and asks why the hell I'm not there. I think it's poetic enough that if it's an Apollo kid, they'll appreciate it and let me not attend, and if it's a Mars kid, they'll probably be so overwhelmed by the sheer poeticnessisms that they'll run away something.

I'll work something out if it doesn't sway the other campers. Honestly, the meeting was the absolute worst. It was incredibly stuffy in there, and all they were saying was "you go over here" and "you go over there".

We're going to be playing the stupid war game, and I really, _really_ hate that game. I've gotten injured enough times to know that the "fun" of that game is nowhere near worth the pain.

Here's a fun fact: if you're doing nothing and therefore pose no threat to the opposing team, no one will notice you. Your _teammates_ probably won't even notice you. So if you're hiding in a tree and chilling out, you're officially fine.

You know what? I bet they're not even missing me at the meeting! I'm sure they know I'd only be a liability anyway, so they're probably like, "Whatevs, let Judy stare at the sky and contemplate life instead of know what we're going to do when we take on... the other cohorts."

I'm sure it doesn't matter that I don't know who we're going against. I'm a good hider anyway.

* * *

The minute we rush onto the battlefield, I scramble to the nearest tree and scale it in seconds flat. Yup, I've still got it. My tree-climbing childhood days really paid off.

I look off into the sky nostalgically and reminisce about when I was little and just met my brothers… I remember being all, "Mommy, who are these freaks and why do they sleep here?"

And then Mom was like, "Judy, don't say 'freaks'," and then I turned around and saw Dylan and he was so ma-

"GAAGH!" I hear someone scream, snapping me out of my reverie.

Don't you just hate when you're looking back at your childhood and all these goshdarn jerks keep interrupting you with their cries of pain?

Oh wait, of course not. _You_ don't have to deal with this, you lucky mortal, you.

Welp, this officially sucks. Eh, at least I'm not _in_ there.

Out of boredom, I try to find people I know in the sea of violence. The first person I see is the person who has the bed to the left of mine back in the barrack, but I never spoke to him, so I lose interest fast.

Then, I see Melina charging, and Sierra following behind her. Huh, didn't know we were taking on the Fourth Cohort. I sure hope they've got someone else on their side, or they're done for.

Anyway, Melina's usually really nice and motherly, or so I've seen when I was a safe distance away from her (she's still wary of me and Susan since Susan stole Sierra's toy a while ago), and even though no one's there pissing her off and making her get all scary, she gets really into these kinds of things. She _is_ a Mars kid, after all.

Melina's super good at this kind of thing, I realize as I see her taking down nearly everyone that gets in her way. No one dares attempt to even harm the smaller girl trailing behind her, for fear of their lives.

I wonder how Melina knows Sierra, anyway. Maybe she just took her under her wing when she came here, like me with Taylor (even though I was forced into it).

Well, not like it really matters. But I've got nothing else to think about, anyway.

"Judy?" I hear a voice say. "Is that you?"

I nearly scramble higher into the midget tree I climbed, but when I sneak a glance below me before I begin, I realize it's only Octavian. "Oh, hey, Octavian. I haven't seen you in while. How've you been?"

"Fine." Which is an obvious lie, because he looks really distressed and out of it. "I thought I was hallucinating," he mutters worriedly to himself. "Why would you be in a tree? It made no sense. But you're really there. Why do yo- Ah, sorry."

I was listening intently and had absolutely no intention of stopping him, but it turns out that he just _had_ to realize that he was thinking out loud. Lame. "Why would you be hallucinating me?" I ask him, a little confused.

He looks at me like _I'm_ the insane one who thought they were hallucinating the very real and solid person, and slowly asks me, "Why would you be sitting in a tree?"

"Good point. About that, could you not tell anyone I was up here?" I ask him.

"But what are you doing there?" he asks me.

"Uh… keeping watch," I lie, albeit incredibly convincingly. Octavian takes a lot of pride in the First Cohort, Camp Jupiter, and being part god, so I'm not sure how he'll react to my lack of support for our team. I doubt he'll understand the "I don't want to be super injured" thing.

"You're keeping watch? I'm fairly sure you aren't supposed to be. Didn't you attend the strategy meeting? Only the children of Apollo are supposed to be attacking from afar, and a couple of the Mars descendants are defending. Everyone else should be out there on the offense!" he exclaims, returning to his normal self. Who knew Octavian cared about battle plans so much?

Heh, probably everyone who attended the strategy meeting.

"Well, see, Octavian, I actually just lied," I explain sheepishly. "And-"

"That's not surprising in the least, keeping your father in mind, and the fact that I've you long enough to know that you have a bit of a penchant for lying. I could hav- Where is your weapon?"

I think I very well may be giving Octavian an aneurysm in the near future. "See, what I _was_ going to say is that I don't really like playing this game. So I don't. You know?"

"I can't honestly say that I do," Octavian says, and I just know that he'll go off on a little spiel about how I should be fighting for the pride of my cohort or whatever. "Judy, I don't mean to lecture you" - but I totally will, henh, henh, henh - "but it shouldn't matter if you _like_ playing this game. We're part of the First Cohort, and we are the pride of Camp Jupiter. You should want to help prove that! Aren't you happy that you were placed here and not the Fourth Cohort? Then use that happiness to fight for what made you happy!" he declares with the fiery determination of a well-oiled eagle.

"Octavian, you were here when I first came. Don't you remember that I got in on a fluke and a couple of people didn't like me because of that? But even if that's irrelevant now, I still got in on a fluke, you know? I can't fight like any of these other god-people can! All I can do is run fast, and that's not really useful in this type of thing, especially with all the armor I'm supposed to wear weighing me down. And anyway, it's not like they need it. Since they're the pride and joy of the camp, it means that they're good at pretty much _everything_! They can win without my help," I reason with him. "By the way, you won't tell anyone I wasn't fighting, right?" I smile at him as charmingly as possible. I'm fairly sure it will work.

"Judy, you must be-" Octavian begins to reply, but I interrupt him.

"HOLYFRIGGINCRAP, OCTAVIAN, _DUCK_!"

But Octavian's got no idea what I'm talking about and just furrows his blonde little eyebrows and I lunge toward him on instinct and-

* * *

It goes kind of like this:

OCTAVIAN used LECTURE! It wasn't very effective.

RANDOM CAMPER used FLING! RANDOM CAMPER flung its WEAPON!

RANDOM CAMPER fled.

A wild JUDY appeared!

The wild JUDY used TACKLE! It was super-effective! FLING missed.

OCTAVIAN is confused.

(Not like I play Pokemon or anything. Because Pokemon is for losers. And you're a loser for getting the reference. Pokemon is bad and you should feel bad.)

WRITER-used-TIMESKIP!-it-was-sorta-effective

"Oooof. Sorry. Are you okay, Octavian? I mean, I just saved your life and all, but, seriously, are you okay?" I ask, having landed on the guy. I pushed him onto the ground when I tackled him and we fell chest to chest. Luckily, nothing really weird happened (I'm not even going into that, use your imagination) and he was wearing armor, so a lot of awkwardness was avoided.

Octavian's face is a bit flushed, either from the fatigue that you get when you're tackled to the ground by a girl in a midget tree, or from the embarrassment that you get when you're tackled to the ground by a girl in a midget tree. I kind of seriously doubt the latter. "I'm fine," he says quickly, not meeting my eyes.

"That's good, then," I reply happily, sitting up and then realizing I'm still on top of Octavian. "Oh, uh, sorry." I stand up and spy the weapon that some jerk threw at Octavian impaling a tree behind us, and I pull it out and examine it. "Hey, this thing's pretty sharp," I observe, and then carve "JUDY ROX! :)" into the tree.

"Judy?" I hear Octavian say quietly behind me.

"Yeah?" I ask him, spinning around to look at him. His face isn't that shiny - I guess he spotted me pretty early in the game - but his cheeks are still just a little pink. His eyes are ice blue as normal; it's not like they're lit up with joy or anything. The only really interesting thing about him right now is his armor.

It looks ridiculous. Everyone looks kind of ridiculous with armor on; it's pretty hilarious. I used to entertain myself during the other war games by looking at people's armor and laughing at how ridiculous they looked, but I eventually got used to it and it stopped being funny.

After all this examining of Octavian, I took a glance at the view behind him: a bunch of people way too into a game of violence. Remembering that even some of the most docile-seeming people allowed themselves to act as ruthless as they wanted during this game (it's reminiscent of the internet), I drop the weapon and scramble up the tree again. "Octavian, quick, get up here!" I say, before Octavian can continue with whatever he wants to say.

"Why?" he asks me, temporarily diverted from his attempt to say something.

"Isn't it obvious? Didn't the weapon that nearly killed you prove that you can't just talk to people in the plain sightof other people who are willing to murder you with their sharp weapons of evil?"

"Well... yes, but I can't just be hiding in trees," he says. "There's a game going on."

"C'mon, Octavian, didn't you want to tell me something?" I try to reason. "And I promise this tree isn't that hard to climb, if that's what you're worried about. I'll help you if you need it."

"I don't need help climbing the tree," he says, sounding just a little wounded.

"Really?" I ask, a lightbulb materializing above my head. "Then prove it."

Octavian sees right through my ploy and shakes his head. "Judy, I'm afraid I'm not stupid," he says.

"You sure didn't make it obvious. Just get up here before someone shoots you," I tell him. He doesn't seem swayed, so I whip out the big guns. You better be ready for this, Octavian. "Well, Octavian… I didn't want to have to do this, but… don't you owe me?"

Oh yeah, super déjà vu powers are go!

"I did just save your life, remember? Hey, and you know what debt you can never really pay off?" I ask just to rub it in. "Your life! But… if you just climb up this tree, we can both forget about it, no strings attached, huh?"

He thinks it over for a minute. "Do you swear?" he asks.

"Pinky-swear," I say, leaning toward him and sticking out my pinky.

"I don't enjoy pinky swears… I'll just take your word for it," Octavian says, and he climbs up the tree, surprisingly not needing my help.

"Nice," I say of his tree-climbing skills. "Where'd you learn that?"

"I had an apple tree in my garden when I was a child," he says.

"Ah. So, what was it that you wanted to tell me?" I ask him.

He looks down and says, "I was going to say thank you."

"Oh, but then I used the fact that u saved your life to force you up this tree! Heh, sorry about that." I grin at him sheepishly.

"It's fine… though I wonder: why did you choose to squander what you did on forcing me to climb this tree?"

"Heh, I… I don't blackmail, you know. I'm- I'm not _you_ ," I joke. He doesn't laugh, so I add, "No offense."

"Oh," he says.

"And, well, you might be skewered out there!" I say. "And we can't have that!"

"I… suppose not."


	8. Of Drama Queens and Tactless Observers

Once when I was younger, about eight or so, my caretaker (who still lived with me at the time) had noticed that a carnival came to town and insisted that I go, saying that "All studying and no carnival makes Octavian a dull boy." Or something along those lines. Eventually, I decided to humor him, and we went. I suspect he had more fun than I did, but I admit I found the experience somewhat refreshing. In any case, that isn't that point.

At the carnival, there was one of those giant, inflatable houses that children jumped around in (For the life of me, I cannot remember the proper name for those things, and frankly, I can't bring myself to care.) and my caretaker told me to go inside and jump around because it was "good for the soul". I decided that since the reason I even came to the carnival was to humor him, I would do what he insisted.

I was a bit frail when I was younger (To put it bluntly, I was incredibly wimpy.), so when I finally got inside, I jumped around for about three seconds, and then proceeded to fall onto my side.

There's a reason I'm telling you this story. The reason is that, almost a decade after it happened, I finally realize that it's a metaphor for life, or, at least, my life. Life is rolling around on the floor of an inflatable house and narrowly avoiding hooligans that will not hesitate to jump all over you.

Judy Calderon happens to be one of those hooligans. She's a hooligan that keeps appearing without worrying about the fact that she probably will end up jumping all over me.

However, there's a part of this metaphor that I've failed to mention until now: the exit. The houses are not inflatable death traps for weak children; if the child can survive to the exit, the end of misery is in reach.

Now, I know what you're thinking. "If the bouncy house is life, then the exit must be death! Gee willikers, I hope this guy doesn't kill himself!"

I'll have you know that I do not wish to end my life because Judy keeps appearing and making me feel strange. No, that is the quitter's way out (not to mention incredibly overdramatic).

My way out, my exit, just happens to be named Jose Williams.

* * *

"Hey, Octavian! Couldn't help but notice you and Judy _literally_ sitting in a tree!" Jose bellows in that way that everyone in the general vicinity can hear him, and elbows me, waggling his eyebrows.

I have begun to fear that Jose may not be the exit after all.

But, let's not move to that yet. I'm sure that you're still wondering as to why I even assumed he would be the exit in the first place. After all, he's an annoying person, too. Wouldn't he be a hooligan?

That is true, and I must clarify: he is the exit from Judy's tyranny. (I admit I'm exaggerating, but there's only so much a person can take.)

Judy seems to have deep-seated dislike for Jose. I wouldn't know why (That Susan girl she's friends with is much worse, what with her completely uncalled for hatred of _me_.), but as this dislike exists, I must take advantage of it.

"Yo, Octavian? No response?" I hear Jose say. I watch him grin. "You mean you really-"

" _No_ ," I cut him off. "That would be completely ridiculous. And also, if it's no problem, would you mind speaking _quietly_?"

"Hah, there's the Octavian I know!" Jose says, a touch _more loudly_ than before, and putting a hand on my shoulder. "Seriously, though, why were you in a tree with Judy? Try as I can, I just can't see any reason other than making out." He shakes his head disapprovingly. "What were you doing, making a tree house or something?"

My mind races as I try to think of something to say. I was sitting in a tree and contemplating life when Judy came up and began harassing me? Judy was...

I inwardly sigh as I realize I'll have to settle for the truth.

"Blackmail," I mutter.

Well, it's not as if I'd tell him the complete truth.

"Whoa, what was it, some _Fifty Shades of Grey_ sort of thing?" Jose asks. "Man, she never seemed the type to be into that stuff."

"Jose?" I ask him innocently.

"Yeah, man?"

"Stop talking."

"Cold," he says with a shake of the head and feigned disappointment.

"Well, it's only... Would you mind terribly to not talk about Judy for the rest of the day? I've had my fill of her for several lifetimes," I inform him.

"I'd say something dirty, but I don't think you'd appreciate it." I raise my eyebrows at him questioningly and he sighs and looks down. "Sure."

* * *

This plan I made to avoid Judy.

It's not going well.

Well, it's not as if I've run into Judy, of course. But following Jose around like a deranged puppy has its repercussions.

For one thing, I can feel the looks of the people who see me with Jose. There's something about Jose - it's a defining trait, actually - that I may have mentioned before.

Jose Williams is, for a lack of a better word, a loser.

It was different in the past. In the past, Jose was following _me_ around, sort of like a second Judy but much less clingy. I'm not sure why he chose to be friends with me, but, you know, it's been years and I've never learned why Judy acted similarly, so it's really just very unimportant to me.

In any case, when my peers see me following Jose around, it's obvious to me what they're thinking: "Wow, Octavian's hanging out with _Jose_ , that total loser with retarded hair? I knew he wasn't the epitome of cool when I saw him killing animals in the temple 24/7, but now that he's worshiping _Jose Williams_ , holy crap, that guy needs a life."

Also, why did I ever agree to be friends with this person?

I could write an essay entitled _A Day in the Life of Jose Williams_ and, at the very least, eighty percent of it would consist of making people angry and the consequences. (The other twenty percent would be eating and restroom breaks.)

And it really seems that he's doing this on _purpose_. It's as if he's making an _effort_ to get under the skin of everyone he meets, even changing **personas** as necessary. He's the son of _Ceres,_ for the gods' sakes, he should be starting a turnip garden, not doing improv to cause dislike. But more importantly, how have I not noticed this?

I knew before this that some people didn't like him, of course, but I thought he just had a naturally unlikable personality and tolerated him because of the fact that I couldn't find anything to blackmail him with, if anything was ever necessary, and that he assumed we were friends after talking to me twice.

Do you remember what I said before, about how if _Jose_ is following _me_ around, the whole situation is completely different? After some consideration, I fear I may have been incorrect. Simply keeping him on good tabs with me could lose me a slew of votes.

It's painfully clear to me that I must end my acquaintanceship with Jose.

* * *

"Hey, that girl! She's hot. What's her name, Doc Ock?"

"Nita Lopez. Please don't call me that."

"Huh, maybe I'll go talk to her."

"I believe she's in a relationship."

"Never stopped me!"

"…"

"Hey, what's that look for? I was only kidding, gods… Hey, she's kind of nice-looking. And in my league."

"That happens to be Susan Pearson; I'd recommend you stay away for her. She happens to be the personification of unjustified hate. If you go up and speak to her, she'll probably dislike you greatly already."

"She do something to you?"

"No, not especially."

"Do you _know_ her?"

"Secondhandedly."

"How?"

"She's a friend of a girl I know."

"You mean Judy."

"How did you- not as if it matters."

"You would've said her name if it was anyone else."

"…"

"You like to brag about how many people you know. I mean, not outright, but, you know, you're kind of a show-off."

"I'm happy to hear that."

"…"

"…"

"Anyway…"

"…Listen, Jose, I have to tell you something."

"Shoot."

"There's no way to put this nicely, but..."

"People tell me mean things all the time, just say it."

"I think we should stop being friends."

* * *

His eyes stare at mine, his brows furrowed. "You're joking, right?" he says, his words and expression rife with confusion.

"It wouldn't make a terribly funny joke."

I shouldn't have dared believe that there existed a way that I could tell Jose what I needed to without making him angry. Or I at least should not have believed that I would be able to find it.

I wonder how it came to this. Just yesterday, I was sure that he would be the solution to all of my problems, and now I know that he'll be the root of more.

"But it doesn't even make sense," Jose points out. "Look, is it 'cause I brought up She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? Man, Octavian, look, it's pretty obvious that you've got a crush on her. I say you get over your denial-"

"I'm not in denial about anything. The simple assumption that I even _like_ her is preposterous," I tell him. I may have felt my cheeks warm once or twice when I was with her yesterday, but it was a hot day, and I was very tired.

"Mhm. You are definitely not in denial. I can tell by the way you deny it," Jose says.

"Jose, you're only straying from the point," I say to shut him up. "The point being that I believe we should stop being friends."

Well, I didn't exactly put it delicately, but I've already said it. It isn't as if I can take it back. And he crossed the line when he brought up Judy; the comment was completely unnecessary. I'm beginning to sympathize with the people who have grown to hate him, or at least, dislike him severely. It's not as if I _hadn't_ asked him not to bring her up, after all.

Honestly, the boy is insufferable.

"Which is because…?" he says. It's not a surprise in the least that he's asking for an explanation - after all, he's asked already, his divergence from the subject aside - and I would have predicted it, had I thought it through before I brought up the subject, but, as I haven't, I realize that I'll have to come up with it as I go. It's not as if I can simply tell him the equivalent of "you're not cool enough to hang out with me" and not have him detest me with every part of his soul. There has to be another gentler, but logical explanation.

However, it seems that I'm taking too long to think of a better, albeit false reason that I believe we should cut all ties, and Jose says, "No reply, huh? Let me guess… if it's not Judy, then it must be because…" He has his hand to his chin and is thinking intently. Oddly enough, it seems he's not angry at me for failing to reply, but simply curious as to what reason I'd have for abandoning him. "Ah! I know it now! It must be because I'm not cool enough for you!"

I don't know whether or not to cut him off with a "that's not true" or allow him to continue… but that doesn't seem important to me at the moment.

Jose is speaking _loudly_. He's generally a loud speaker, but he's invigorated now, almost yelling from the accomplishment he feels from the seemingly logical conclusion he's reached. He could possibly be making a scene of himself right now - a scene involving me.

I quickly and subtly glance around to the sight of people engaged in their own conversations and generally minding their own business. I wonder... is this what people are usually like? Do they not notice things like me hanging out with Jose? Would it be okay if I keep speaking to him?

…No, that's ridiculous. I shouldn't have even thought it. Jose is… _Jose_. Even if there's only a slight chance that this could ruin my chances of becoming praetor next year, it's still important that I eliminate it. It's only natural to discard something that's become a nuisance. Insisting that baseless ideas are truths, ridiculing how I spend my time, being annoying in general… I can tolerate that. But if he's going to be a threat to my ideal future, he needs to go.

"…and since you're in the whole praetor scene, it makes a lot of sense. So, am I right on the nose or what?"

"I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" I ask him bluntly. I admit it was a bad time to get lost in thought, but as I said before, what's done cannot be undone.

Jose sighs exaggeratedly. "Typical Octavian. I bet it's because I brought up Judy," he says with a shake of the head. Before I can protest, he wags a finger at me and says, "Ah-ah-ah. Let me finish. And listen this time, huh?" in the most patronizing way possible. " _You_ don't want to be friends with _me_ because people hate me for some reason! Actually, pretty much everyone except you, and people I've never talked to. You're scared that when people see me with you, they'll be like, 'Look at Octavian hanging out with Jose, who I hate! What a tool! If he runs for praetor, never voting for him! Ever! I don't vote for tools!'" Jose coughs, as if to hide the fact that he got carried away with his impression of a Jose-hating layperson. "Actually, don't you have to be a centurion to run for praetor? Should you really be getting this ahead of yourself?"

I charitably refrain from telling him that _he's_ narrating my thoughts (for his minimal understanding of how this camp works, I could be thinking about whether or not people will vote me for centurion), although, to his credit, he's narrated them right. Instead, I scowl and say, "I _am_ centurion."

"Really? I could've sworn-"

"But I'm only filling in for Reyna," I mutter darkly.

I don't want to go into this. But Reyna… She's barely ever _here_ , since she's constantly whisked away Jason Grace, Camp Jupiter's golden boy, but she's still technically centurion. When she comes back, my power vanishes. How more people like her, who is _never_ here, than me, slaving away in the temple every day in case - just _in case -_ I receive a message that will save this camp from the threats that loom not too far away, is an incredible injustice.

She gets to be centurion, and I get to be called "teddy-bear murderer" behind my back.

"Whoa, Octavian, you were scowling before, but your face just turned downright evil. What'd Reyna ever do to you? I mean, everyone loves her for a reason, right?"

"Exactly that," I mutter.

"Oh, I get it!" Jose exclaims, as if he's made an important revelation. _"Someone's_ jelly."

I will drag this fool up Temple Hill and I will cut open his torso with the same knife I use for the stuffed animals. He's not much of a sacrifice, but he _has_ to be worth more in death than in life.

"Okay, okay, enough with the glare!" Jose yelps. It seems the subconscious glare has returned, but he deserves it. He deserves every unfortunate event that will ever happen to him in his life. Even if his last name becomes Baudelaire. No, _especially_ if his last name becomes Baudelaire. "I was joking! Anyway, man, don't get so worked up about it. I bet people like you if you get to be fill-in centurion. There are lots of cool people in the First Cohort, y'know?"

It's more that everyone in the First Cohort (save Judy, who I know would vote for me anyway) has a secret they wish for no one to know that I happen to know and have no qualms about telling precisely the people that shouldn't know. Or, simply, everyone.

(Which only makes me detest Reyna even more, being that I have this leverage, but they vote for her anyway.)

But, to make Jose feel a little bit better about his people skills, because I _am_ in the middle of vanquishing him from my "favored acquaintances" list, I say, "I suppose they must," noncommittally. I may have been too harsh on Jose. He _is_ trying to make me feel better.

"Hah, see?" he says, getting far too ahead of himself and acting as if my mood has completely changed because of his minimal contribution to my day. "It's not that bad after all."

It is, Jose. Your mind is just too simple to contemplate it.

Although… I do wonder what is going on in your head. You're obviously not making everyone you speak to hate you by _accident_.

Of course, I can't say any of this aloud (Oh, but how I wish to!), so I settle for simply saying a quiet, "I suppose."

"Octavian, you have to stop saying things like 'I suppose'. You're gonna start to sound insincere." I wonder if, deep down inside, he knows that I am. Or maybe he knows not so deep down, and he's simply saying this for his entertainment. "You should be like, 'Yeah, you're totally right! I support what you're saying one-hundred-percent!' …Well, if you said _that_ , you'd probably sound even more insincere. Just like, 'yes' or 'I agree' or something."

"I suppose."

He laughs. "Typical Octavian! That didn't even sound sincere!" He drifts off, waiting for me to say something, which I don't, and he eventually says, "What were we talking about again?"

"You were telling me your theory as to why I don't want to be friends with you anymore."

"Oh yeah… You don't want to be friends with me anymore." The twinge of sadness in his voice is evident, and I wonder if it's sincere. Before, when he was presenting his idea as to why I didn't wish to be acquainted with him, he seemed to be taking it in stride. In retrospect, that was actually quite strange. I anticipated that he'd be angry, but instead he was making jokes as he'd always been during the span of our acquaintanceship.

Jose's face reverts back into a grin. "Well, I was saying that I'm not cool enough to hang out with you, since people won't vote for you if they see you with me, being that everyone I speak to hates me for some reason. Uh, except you, but that's sort of meaningless now, heh." He pauses and says, "So, am I right or what?"

"Erm…" I don't know what to say. Should I tell the truth, or make up a gentler lie? Though he came up with it himself… "That is…"

"Dude," Jose says, and for a moment I think he's angry, or at least slightly miffed, but then he continues, "it's okay if I'm right."

"It is?" I say. "Not that you're right, but-"

" _Dude_ ," Jose repeats with a small laugh, "it's _okay_. Geez, man."

"Why?" I ask, genuinely curious. He'd been taking everything in stride before, but I didn't expect it to be to this extent.

"Honestly, Octavian, do you think I'm stupid?" he questions, albeit without a trace of antagonism. Before I can respond with the two-letter lie I'm about to say reflexively, he says, "Don't answer that. Anyway, it's been pretty obvious to me that this whole time that your dream - well, more your _goal_ , since it's in reach and everything - is way more important to you than our friendship. Actually, did you know the first time you ever referred to me as your friend was when you said, 'I think we should stop being friends.'? Hah, irony."

I don't think Jose knows what irony means. But, on a more important matter, I don't understand how he's stating this truth so bluntly without being angry. Had he really known this the whole time? I might have underrated Jose this whole time. It slightly stings that I've known him so long and couldn't tell this about him.

"Look, I get it. And I can't say I'd never seen this coming. You know, I'm actually kind of surprised it took you so long. So if you don't want me around anymore, I won't be around." He pauses and then amends his statement. "Well, I _will_ be around, but... not with you."

"I have to thank you for being so understanding, Jose. I can't say I expected it," I admit to him, deciding that I may as well be honest if it's going to be one of the last times I speak to him.

He laughs. "I'm cooler than you think, Octavian. Well, I'll see you around. See ya."

"Goodbye, Jose."

"Oh, come on, can't you say 'see ya' just this once?" In an overdramatic voice, he says, "It's my final request."

I sigh. " _Goodbye_ , Jose."

"Hah, typical Octavian!" he says for the third time. "Well, see ya."

A half-minute later, when he's out of earshot, I murmur, "…See ya."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Stop the bus! I wanna be lonely."  
> \- Ben Folds Five, "Jackson Cannery"


	9. An Illogical Assumption

It is highly recommended that you spar regularly, so as the evil monsters don't destroy you in a second when they track down your delicious demigod blood.

Also, by attending Camp Jupiter, you pretty much submitted yourself as a soldier should an army be needed, and it'd be pretty cool if you didn't die immediately on that one, too.

That's pretty much what I've been told by camp godpeople since I came here, but _come on_! Violence is, like, _bad_! Injuries are bad, too! And what can't catch you won't kill you, just saying.

So really, this whole sparring thing… should just stay a high recommendation! It's pointless!

But, as always, no one gets me (I just feel so misunderstood) and it's required that you spar every now and then weeks or "bad things happen".

Which is a total joke, of course, since I've sparred about not at all this summer and I'm _fine_!

Really!

* * *

The kid in front of me looks Taylor's age, and it's ridiculous.

Is this bad things happening? Because, why do the bad things happen when I finally _come_ to a requisite spar? I should be rewarded! Instead, I'm given the order to beat up a fourteen year-old.

This is a lose-lose situation! I mean, no one really cares about me other than my friends, but still! How will my pride withstand this?

Man, I just had to feel bad about not sparring ever.

Before I know it, I see a knife swipe towards my torso.

This kid...! He's hardcore! This situation is worse than terrible!

I dodge it reflexively, and rush to his back, avoiding the jabs. I flip my sword over, with the hilt on top, and begin the motion to conk him over the head ad knock him out until I realize that I will be knocking out a _fourteen year-old_.

Obviously, the kid is not about to take this lying down. He starts jabbing wildly at me, preventing me from rushing behind him like I did before. I do my best to block every hit, but this kid is completely insane.

Five bucks says Mars.

I run backwards as fast as I can, trying not to let my guard down. I'd love to let this guy knock me down and then surrender, but something tells me he wouldn't let me down gently.

All of this doing two things at once is really tiring me out, and it hurts me to admit it. Although it would hurt me more if he made contact with his knife.

Subconsciously, I begin losing speed as I dart backwards. Luckily, I notice this and I begin to pick up speed despite my exhaustion to make up for it.

The kid is tiring and begins to move towards me slower than I'm moving away from him, and a nice gap of about half a foot is between us. However, for safety's sake, I run backwards even faster to put an even farther gap between-

Wait, why am I looking at blue? Is that the sky...?

And this sensation...

Well, crap.

So-I-say-noooooo-to-timeskip

I stride out of the camp kitchen holding a pack of ice on the back of my head with as much pride as a person with a pack of ice on the back of their head can.

Honestly, I shouldn't be as okay with everything that happened as I am, considering that I lost to a fourteen year-old _and_ got injured while I was at it, but I'm just going to stop caring.

And since you're probably curious as to what exactly happened, I'll tell you: basically, I tripped because of a weapon some fool left on the ground and knocked my head against the Coliseum wall.

It hurt, not to mention the fact that I was kind of worn out, so before the fourteen year-old murder machine could do anything, I dropped my weapon and said, "SURRENDER! I- Uh, I SURRENDER! Ow ow ow ow ow..."

After the fiasco, I swore off sparring and went to the meal house to get ice from the kitchen, which is how I got here.

And now I'm going to choose to be happy with the fact that I went to sparring and proceed to chill for the rest of day. You really can't hold it against me.

Hmm, where should I go? Maybe I'll just stroll around the grounds until I feel at home... Actually, I think I'll just go back to my barrack and read Seventeen... Do I have a copy of Seventeen?

Eh, I'll borrow it from someone if that's the case. After all, Seventeen just makes girls feel bad about themselves. I'll lift the burden from their backs like the amazing person I am.

I start walking to my barrack, observing the Romans around me being active. Hah, _dumb jocks_.

"But he's _nice_! You're only judging him! I bet you never even _spoke_ him!"

That voice... That's Taylor's voice!

Cool, maybe I'll say hi. But what is he talking about anyway? Maybe I shouldn't interrupt him...

I trace his voice and find him on the archery field with Susan. They're probably supposed to be doing archery, but they're just sitting behind the targets. Hey, I totally should say hi! It's not like they're having a conversation that _I_ can't participate in, after all. Seriously, what would they be talking about?

I start walking towards them.

"Taylor, you're in denial. _Octavian is a jerk_. I don't need to meet him to know that. Have _you_ even heard what he's done to people?"

Wait, _Octavian_? Why are they talking about Octavian? Maybe I won't interrupt this conversation after all... and instead, I'll stand behind that tree over there! For reasons.

Of course, I won't have any trouble getting there! I _am_ Judy Calderon, Thief Extraordinaire, after all.

Uh, when I say that, I mean I only take other people's things when I really, _really_ need them. Really.

I sneak behind the tree, sit down, and listen.

"But Susan, those are just jerks spreading lies! They're jealous! And he didn't do anything to you! So please, Susan, do this for me?"

"Look, he wouldn't be good for her even if he was as nice as you think. You shouldn't meddle in other people's affairs, Taylor."

"But I'm a child of Venus!" Taylor reasons desperately. "It would be a sin if I didn't even _try_ to help them out. Plus she likes him!"

"That doesn't mean they're meant to be. Honestly… I had a crush on Doogie Howser when I was little, you know!"

I hear Taylor _tsk_. "This is true love, though, Susan! They were best friends before, did you know that?"

"Who told you that?" Susan asks. "But anyway, it's not like she fell in love with him as they got closer, Taylor! She's not the main character of _The Notebook of Bridget Jones_ ; she became friends with him _because_ she had a crush on him."

...Are they talking about me?

…Are they… _talking about me_?

But they were talking about Octavian! And Taylor knows we were friends…? And he thinks I have a crush on Octavian?

What? How? Why?

(Also, Susan had a crush on Doogie Howser? Hah, I will totally use this against her!)

"But she wasn't disillusioned when she got to know him! That's so romantic!"

Oh yes, listen first, and then panic.

Susan chuckles. "Taylor, have you even _stopped_ to consider why they're not best friends anymore?"

"Um… it's… because… It was too hard for her to be close to him because she… loves him so much?"

"You do remember who you're talking about, right?"

"Uh…" He sighs the sigh of defeat. "No. I haven't."

"I figured as much. Look, it just happens that she found out that Octavian kills teddy bears."

"She… didn't know?"

"When was the last time Octavian came up to you and said, 'You know, I kill teddy bears'?"

"But _everyone_ knows!"

"Look, it wasn't like that a couple of years ago. Get over it."

"But why'd she stop being friends with him over something as stupid as that?"

"She thinks teddy bears have souls or whatever. But anyway, the point is that them together would be like a vegetarian going out with a butcher. They're not a good pair."

"But she doesn't mind now! The disillusionment couldn't break their bond!"

"Taylor, she's lost in the depths of denial. Kind of like you, but a thousand times more. She blinds herself with thinking that he's a great guy and conveniently ignores all of his bad sides. She _wants_ to be illusioned! She's… She's taking the red pill!"

"But she _loves_ him! Don't you want her to be happy?"

"But she _wouldn't_ be happy, not in the long term."

"You know something, Susan? I heard that the other day she was sitting in a tree with him, and they were _happy_! …Well, Octavian looked kind of disgruntled, but I'm sure he was happy deep down!"

"That's great. Geez, Octavian's such a terrible influence…"

"You're not her _mom_ , Susan," Taylor snaps crankily.

"And _you're_ not her personal matchmaker," Susan retorts. "And I'm not either, so let's leave Judy alone, and forget Octavian ever existed."

"But-"

"Shut up, Taylor."

"B-But-"

" _Shut up,_ Taylor."

"…"

"Don't even think about it."

"But I-"

" _Taylor_ ," Susan threatens.

"…fine," he mumbles.

And then silence fell, and I got up and walked away.

And then sprinted to my barrack.

* * *

"HOLY FRIGGIN' CRAP TO THE HIGHEST DEGREE!" I yell at my empty barrack. "Taylor thinks I have a crush on Octavian and it's terrible and Susan basically told him my entire past at Camp Jupiter and teddy bears totally have feelings Suze you're going to regret it during the teddy bear apocalypse which will be ADORABLE by the way as long as you respect their feelings and also _godsdammit_ -sorry, gods - I AM NOT TAKING THE RED PILL - wasn't it the blue pill? - Octavian's a perfectly nice guy beneath his constant blackmail of weaker people and you're just a pessimist who hates everyone and WHAT WAS THAT LAST BIT ABOUT MY PERSONAL MATCHMAKER? Taylor totally wouldn't try to get us together, right? That is the opposite of what Venus kids are known for and OH MY GOD MY LIFE IS OVER and I don't even like the kid. SERIOUSLY I HAVE ONE LITTLE CRUSH WHEN I'M _FOUR_ FREAKINGTEEN AND NO ONE FORGETS!? Who even does that? What have I ever done to you, fate? Why must you inflict this curse upon me?"

The room fills with silence.

" _I hate you, fate_."

I breathe in and breathe out.

This… isn't that bad, right?

I mean, Susan said no. She'll definitely stop him from doing anything too extreme… or anything… at all.

See, Taylor doesn't understand that Octavian can't comprehend emotions. Or really feel them, if they're not hate or passionate indifference or something. He might be overwhelmed if he's put in a bunch of strange, compromising situations and he'll just avoid me forever, which would be the opposite of what Taylor wants, and not exactly what I want. It's just a terrible feeling when you know someone's avoiding you forever. It's so sad.

Or, Octavian would think I'm weird (or weirder than he initially assumed, because, to Octavian, anything with a personality is weird) and _hate_ me forever, and then proceed to avoid me. Forever. Which is also the opposite what Taylor wants, and the opposite of what I want.

And _no_ , it is not because I have a crush on him. Seriously. You probably think I'm in denial, but I am _not_. I mean, is it _that_ crazy that I got over someone I liked when I was fourteen? _Really_?

Look, I got over him as much as I hope Susan got over Doogie Howser. That is, completely over him. If you don't believe me, that's your choice, and I don't really care.

But really, would it have killed me to have been best friends with the kid sleeping in the bed next to mine instead of Octavian?

You know what? I shouldn't even blame myself. I was stupid and fourteen. It's Susan's and Taylor's fault for this. Especially Taylor's. Even if _he's_ stupid and fourteen.

Seriously.

SKIPPING TIME LIKE A BOSS

Forty-five minutes later, done with my carefully formulated plan and forty-minute nap, I walk out of my barrack with the determination of something extremely determined.

Like a tiger, I hunt down my prey, always keeping watch behind me and making sure _jerks_ aren't stalking while I'm stalking. This thought in mind, I make a quick glance behind me to see nobody. Goo-

"Hey!"

"EH?" I whip around to see Jose. His stupid highlights glimmer in the sunlight. "Why are you talking to me?"

" _Well_ , if I'm not good enough to talk to you…" he says, being fake disappointed.

"Indeed. Gotta go, have actual stuff to do. Ta!"

Jose disappears behind me as I sprint to the Field of Mars to find the flicker of red I've been looking for.

Finally I find it, and as I close in on my prey, Susan gets to him. _Oh well, she needs to hear this, too._ "Guys!" I yell at them, arms flailing.

They look up. "Hey, Judy!" Taylor yells back.

When I catch up to them, Susan opens with. "What've you been up to?"

 _Fool_ , I think. _I should be asking that of_ you _!_ Instead I say, "Eh, nothing much."

"Oh, cool," Susan cuts me off, as if to stop me from asking-

"You?"

Susan grins, and it's very forced, though not guilty, as if it's picture day and she has to smile even though she's pissed off at life for existing. "Shot some arrows, hung out with Taylor, nothing much."

"Oh really? What'd you guys do?" I ask, just to get them squirming.

"Um, shoot arrows."

 _Darn! My plans were foiled,_ I think, and as it passes my mind, I remember that I had an actual plan that had nothing to do with them confessing to _gossiping_ behind my back.

It'll require sacrifice, on my part, mostly, but it's going to be worth it.

"Oh. So anyway, can I tell you guys something?"

Instead of lighting up with happiness because of his gossipy tendencies, Taylor makes a weird face and says, "I guess, if you're okay with that guy behind you knowing."

…what.

… _if it's Jose…_

"Hey, douchebag, go away," I say.

"But I didn't even do anything to you!"

" _Why are you stalking me_?"

"Hey, I'm bored, alright?"

"Go hang out with Octavian or something, I don't want you here."

Jose shakes his head with a disappointed-in-you expression. "Can't, Octavian killed our friendship. I'm not cool enough for him."

Instead of responding with "Who said you were cool enough for _me_?" I ask, "Oh, are you okay, man?" because I'm not a heartless jerk.

"Can't say I didn't see it coming. That kid just does not understand human emotion, unless it's hate or passionate indifference or something."

" _I know, right_?" We high-five. Susan coughs. Loudly.

"Umm, Judy?"

"Alright, you gotta go now, man. See you."

"But I have nowhere else to go, everyone hates me."

"I'm pretty sure you do it on purpose. Go annoy someone for awhile, I'll talk to you later."

Jose slumps over and turns away. "Fine. But I'm holding you to that!" he yells at me as he leaves.

"Then I never said it!"

"You can't take it back now!"

"I really need to get that guy a girlfriend," I say. "Anyway, where were we?"

"You had something important to tell us," Taylor says, not missing a beat. I swear, that kid's gonna be an information broker someday. Actually, I bet he already is.

But anyway, it's time to put my master plan into motion! I hide a smirk and start to fake embarrassment. I wasn't in Drama Club for two weeks for nothing! "O-Oh… well…" I twirl a strand of my hair and stare at my feet. (Patented technique, female dogs!) "I've been holding this in a while, but I can't anymore… I… I really, really like this guy…"

My eyes dart to their faces. Taylor's about to have a moment and Susan's… not happy. "Who is it!?" Taylor and Susan say in unison, but with very different tones.

"U-uh-uhmmmm…. J-Ja- JASON GRACE!" I say.

"That's great, Judy! He's a really nice guy," Susan says. "A little out of your league, but so was Dougi- Zac Efron."

I ignore Susan a second and look at Taylor. Instead of breaking down in tears like I thought he would, instead he's stroking his chin like a dignified politician… Just what is he thinking?

"Judy?" Susan asks.

"Judy," Taylor says, "how serious are you about him?"

"Well, I've had this crush a while... four months or so?" I say automatically. Crap, that was May.

"Oh, really?" Taylor says, not allowing his face to show something as vile as emotion. "Then… what color are his eyes?"

"I… well…" He's doubting it; what do I say? Think, Judy, think… You've gotten out of detention after smacking a first grader for calling you poopface… You can do this! "I found it really hard to… meet his eyes… whenever I talked to him. He was so pretty, I couldn't look at him without turning red."

"Bullshit, Judy, what color are his eyes?"

Okay.

Where's Taylor and who the hell are you?

"I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition," I say.

"I'm just curious," he says, playing innocent.

"You just said 'bullshit', Taylor, and I have never heard you curse in all the time I've known you."

"But why can't you tell me? It's just a question."

"I told you!"

"That's all lies, Judy, let's face it. You shouldn't have trouble answering this if you liked him more than a month."

Ugh, what do I do? If argue any longer it'll seem suspicious. Umm… what does Jason Grace look like again? He's a redhead, right? Redheads usually have blue eyes, I think. Just look at Taylor. "From what I remember of his eyes when I could meet them, they were blue…" Taylor doesn't do anything. "A very… icy blue," I add for good measure. I think I'm right. Someone has icy blue eyes, I remember seeing them before.

"Wrong! His eyes are sky blue!" Taylor says, as if he was a lawyer who finally won a hard case. "You've been lying all along, haven't you?"

"Let's not jump to conclusions, Taylor. That's pedantic at _best_. Just accept you were wrong and get it over with," Susan says. Yeah, go, Susan!

"Fine, Susan, where were you four months ago?"

"It was May, so Jersey."

I snort at this, and am rewarded by death glares all around. Maybe I need new friends.

"Yes, so you're saying that right in the middle of May, Judy realized she's in love with Jason Grace, a boy she barely sees from summer camp."

"No one said Judy was good at math. Or time. She's pretty slow; I'm not surprised she made the mistake."

…When did it become Judy-bashing time?

"Fine, when was the last time you saw Judy acknowledge Jason? Or even look at him for more than a second?"

"She wasn't going to make it obvious," Susan says. Taylor gives her a look. Oh my gods. _I'm still here, godsdammit_! "Fine. But there's no reason for her to lie."

"That's my second point. She called Jason's eyes 'icy blue'. Do you know who actually has icy blue eyes? Octavian Powers."

"Well-"

"Do you mind if I interrupt the court case a second, okay? Is Octavian's last name really 'Powers'? Is there some kind of confirmation on that? Because that's hilariously ironic, oh my gods."

Susan frowns at me. "That's not what ironic means. And yeah, like the credit card company. You seriously didn't know that after stalking him half a summer?"

"Well…"

"Anyway," Taylor begins, "my point is that she found out we know she has a crush on Octavian, and is trying to dissuade us. But she's a terrible liar."

"Correction: I found out you _think_ I have a crush on Octavian. I don't have one. It's over. It ended when I was thirteen. Can we stop assuming this now?"

"Judy," Susan says, "we're not stupid."

I was right.

I do need new friends.


	10. Girls of Love and Hate

My hands move automatically; there is no passion or motivation in what I’m doing anymore. After the third hour, I had already given up on finding out anything useful.

There’s just a bit too much on my mind for me to really care. It’s an odd feeling, missing the person who doubled the stress on your back, but the room feels empty. Of course, Jose never used to spend time with me in the temple anyway - it _is_ a holy place - but the lack of him feels exaggerated, somehow.

It’s not necessarily a bad thing, however. I do have a lot of free time now… but I’m exceptionally bored. “Bored” is a feeling I’d have put myself above, in the past, (In truth, I put myself above most feelings.) but there’s no denying what you feel, I suppose.

 _There’s no denying what you feel_ … Hm, sounds like something Jose would tell me. Of course, then it would be about Judy… but, in all honesty, what _isn’t_ anymore? Somehow, everything leads back to Judy.

Though I must say Judy is currently irrelevant, which I suppose also factors into my boredom. I suppose it’s less that I miss Judy and Jose, but that I’m bored.

Hm, what was it Jose would say in this situation? Ah, yes… blergh.

* * *

“I was looking for you,” I hear a voice say. Female… but it’s too sultry to be Judy. Not that I can’t tell who it was just by sound, of course. With all certainty, I can tell you that that is most definitely Brynne Ramsey.

Here’s what I know about Brynne Ramsey: Like me, she has a famous lineage, and I’m not talking about the Roman goddess part of it; I believe her mother - not Venus, for Brynne’s a second-generation legacy - co-owns a famous lingerie company and her father is a basketball player. Or perhaps football? I don’t care much for sports, the war game aside.

I can’t say I know much about Brynne’s personality, however.

"Octavian?" I hear the voice say once again, and I remember where I am: sitting under a tree, Brynne next to me.

I look up from the tattered book in my hand and look Brynne in the eyes. "Ah, yes. What would you need me for, Brynne?"

"You wouldn't think it from the resident politician, but you're spacey, Octavian," Brynne states, rolling her eyes. I'm no poet, but her eyes seemed to be deep black holes; a vortex one could find themselves lost in... Vortexes that rolled around white pools of... milk, perhaps? Was I speaking about something? "I've been here... five minutes, maybe? Longer than I should be kept waiting. Anyway, I need you to do me a favor."

Enchanting as she may be, I'm still Octavian, scion of the Powers family, and I know better than to blindly agree to a favor.  "And this favor would be?"

"Eating with me tomorrow at mealtime."

I'm a bit shocked, to say the least. What would Brynne have to gain from me eating with her? It's not as if I'm a spectacular cook or anything like that... If anything, her social status is higher than mine. There's not much she could get from eating with me.

Is she proposing this... as a date? "I'm sorry, why would you need this? This isn't a... date, is it? Brynne, I'm afraid I have no interest in romance. It-"

Before I know it, I'm being flicked in the head. I realize it's Brynne flicking me... and while that flick is shattering my pride, it also shatters whatever image I held of Brynne. "'No interest in romance'? That is wholeheartedly ridiculous. _Perhaps_ people like that exist in the world. _Maybe._ But the gods know - Venus, especially - that they are not you. Venus is probably somewhere cackling. You're lonely and sad; I should know. Venus blood comes with a good understanding of people's emotions, and _my_ understanding of _your_ emotions is pretty much one hundred percent."

"I don't believe I've ever heard that about Venus descendants before," I reply, slightly peeved and rubbing my forehead. "And what was that for?"

"For one thing, you told me you didn't care about love, and, this fact is true as the sky is blue: everyone cares about love, be it platonic, romantic-"

"I said I have no interest in romance, not-"

Brynne flicks me again. "Quiet. And I'm pretty sure - no, I _know_ \- that you have no - or rather, _think_ you have no interest in platonic love, anyway; I _can_ read people."

"I can't say I agree with that," I retort, trying to get a word in edgewise. "After all-"

"I, however, _can_ say you're a liar," Brynne interrupts again. This is perhaps the most one-sided conversation I've ever participated in. "A good one, sure, but everyone's got a tell."

"And what would that be?"

"I don't know, but you're definitely lying."

"All this about love aside, you never answered my question," I say, changing the subject purposefully. I can't say I particularly expected anything when Brynne sat next to me, but I can most definitely say that I didn't expect to have my perspective on love examined in detail. _Venus descendants..._

"And what was it again?"

I sigh. "Is this proposal you have a date or not?"

"Ha, like I'd want to date a guy who 'has no interest in romance'," Brynne responds.

"Meaning you're taking it back or it's not a date?"

"It's not a date, but I still need you to eat with me tomorrow. And... you need to act like it's a date as well."

I furrow my eyebrows. "But how would you gain from this, exactly?"

"There's someone I need to make jealous," she says cryptically. Did someone break up with her? I can imagine why... someone dates her for her looks, and then she begins attacking their forehead and lecturing them on love.

I roll my eyes. "I'm afraid that's too petty for my time. Maybe when that lunkhead Jason gets back from whatever 'save-the-world' quest he's on now, you can try him."

"Except he wouldn't say yes because he's in love with Reyna. Not that _you'd_ understand, anyway, Mr. I Have No Interest in Romance." Brynne rolls her eyes. "Anyway, it has to be you."

I raise an eyebrow. "...Because?"

"Because I said so?"

"Well, then, I'm afraid I'll have to decline." I begin to stand up, Brynne's hand clasps my wrist and pulls me back to the ground with ease.

"Wait, Octavian, you need to do this! It's for, uh, true love." I roll my eyes. She's a descendant of Venus; everything is for true love when you've got the goddess of love's blood in you. "Yeah, that wouldn't help with you, huh? Well... I probably shouldn't tell you this, but... it's not a guy I need to make jealous."

"As if I care about that. Do whatever you wish; it doesn't matter to me what you do so long as you don't drag me into it," I reply, exasperated.

"Look, I promised someone I'd do it, okay? I'll..." She frowns and sighs, clearly not wanting to finish the thought. "...owe you a favor."

Wait, Brynne Ramsey, possibly the most beautiful girl at camp, will owe _me_ a favor? That's an opportunity one wouldn't want to pass up. And all I need to do is eat with her? It seems a bit too good to be true... and I don't wish to get tangled into whatever complicated love affairs Brynne Ramsey would be involved in. Yet... " _Any_ favor?" I ask her.

Brynne makes a face - a beautiful face, but also a clearly disgruntled one. "Well, nothing _weird_. If you need me to dig up dirt on anyone, or endorse you... anything like that."

That _had_ been along the lines of what I was thinking. Well, there's not much to lose from this... although... "Will this come back to bite me in the future in any way?"

"I explained to everyone who _would_ get angry why I was doing this; you don't need to worry about evil exes or my stalkers or anything," she answered. "There're no downsides, Octavian. Just do it, okay?"

"...Fine. But I'm holding you accountable if anything happens."

Brynne smiles - it's that godly, shining, angel's smile - and she stands up. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow. Mealtime!"

As she walks away, I wonder what I've gotten myself into.

* * *

Well, the time has come… meal hour.

Wasn’t that such an ugly word, “meal”? Something about it is just so inherently displeasing… Though I suppose it’s not the time to be mulling over such trivial things.

Brynne had visited me in the temple earlier and told me she’d pick me up there and not to go leaving; apparently, it was incredibly important that we enter the mess hall together… She’d tried to explain to me as to why, but I never completely understood. People can be too high-maintenance, and I suppose it shouldn't have come as a surprise that the arguably prettiest girl at Camp Jupiter was one of those people. Though I’m the one doing her a favor...

"Octavian, you're seriously spacing out again? How have you even become known as the Camp Jupiter Politician? You'd end up doing this during a debate, and you'd probably say some dumb line about binders and women," Brynne says, rather encouragingly. "You've been staring at that plush corpse for a full minute."

"While this is all very helpful, important talk, let's just get this over with," I reply peevishly. Silently, I pray to the Roman god of sociability that this dumb fake date holds no future repercussions.

"Wow, don't get too excited on me," Brynne deadpans. “Well?” She sticks her hand out. Reluctantly, and confusedly, I shake it. Brynne sighs deeply. "Octavian, you may be the biggest virgin I've ever met."

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused. Anyway, I meant for you to _hold_ my hand, Jupiter almighty. Give me a minute; I have very important matters to attend to." Before I say anything, Brynne turns to me, and... kneels at a pew? Is she praying? ...I feel as if I should be insulted.

"This isn't a temple to Venus," I try to tell her.

"Honestly, Octavian, we need all the divine intervention we can get," Brynne says to me, standing from the pew and walking to me. "Anyway, we should go. Hold my hand."

"I don't think that's completely necessary," I say, not wishing to hold her hand.

"Trust me, we need to make the fact that this is supposed to be a date as clear as possible," Brynne says, and I swear I hear her mutter afterwards, "because no one in their right mind would go on a date with you."

Well.

Same to you.

If only she wasn't one of the most influential people at camp...

* * *

I find myself at the table without murdering Brynne. It was hard, I admit, but I did survive both Judy _and_ Jose. I am simply the type of person made to survive.

"Look, I got cherries," Brynne says, carrying a bowl filled with the red fruit, and then mouths, "Feed one to me."

I give her the hardest death glare I can through my plastic smile. "I wasn't aware I was your personal slave," I whisper.

"No, you moron. It's romantic," Brynne quietly retorts.

"Are you sure we aren't playing this up just a bit too much?" I ask skeptically.

"One of us is a descendant of the god of love, and the other spends all their time killing stuffed animals. Feed me the fruit," Brynne whispers furiously.

I stop glaring and try to soften my gaze. Grudgingly, I reach towards the bowl and pluck a cherry by the stem. I point it, fruit front, at Brynne's pink lips. She bites the fruit, and as I watch her chew and eventually spit out the pit, I think to myself that this is perhaps the least romantic thing I have ever done, the slaughtering of stuffed animals carrying "I love you" hearts included.

"Thanks, Octavian," Brynne says in the most sickly sweet voice I've ever heard, not meeting my eyes. "But these cherries are terrible; I'm going to go see if I can get pudding from someone." With that, she stands from the table and ends up harassing the other tables, albeit her beauty makes the harassment more of a once-in-a-lifetime chance rather than, well, harassment. I watch her carefully, bored, and see her... hit someone with pudding? ...Is the pudding... falling on her face?

...The pudding fell on her face.

To be truly honest, I've lost all idea of what is going on.

"Oh dear, you've hit me! Oops! Hey, Octavian, I have to go wash up! I'll talk to you again later! ...Maybe."

And with that, Brynne disappears.

* * *

Bored and confused, I reach for Brynne's untouched sandwich and begin to consume it.

Whatever reputation I gain from this, the gods know that, if anything, I deserve this sandwich.

As I polish it off, I get up to discard the wrapper in the intended trash can. While doing so, I notice two familiar braids... and one extremely familiar terrible hairstyle.

It's Judy and Jose. Of course. For some reason, Susan and Taylor are missing, but I can't bring myself to care. I begin to turn away, but then I see perhaps the most bizarre thing in the world: Jose kisses Judy's cheek.

The most accurate description of what goes through my mind is: ????????

Are they... on a date? How do I feel about this?

Silently, and most definitely confused, I leave the mess hall.

* * *

I'm not jealous. The very thought is completely ridiculous; I don't waste time with silly things like "relationships" or "people"... Brynne knows as much. _I_ know as much. I am _Octavian Powers_. My father didn't raise me - well, he _didn't_ raise me, but that's beside the point. He didn't raise me to be a person who would get jealous over such petty things. So what if Judy's on a date with what used to be my best friend? It's not as if I hadn't tried to rid myself of them several times. And now that they're annoying each other, they can't annoy me. It's a win-win situation.

Yet...

I shouldn't feel so heavy in my chest. The familiar cold burn of disappointment is welling up in me, as it did when I was able to become praetor, when I consistently failed my ambitions. But this isn't about power... it's about _Judy_ ; it shouldn't matter as much.

No. Not that it _shouldn't_ matter as much - It _doesn't_ matter as much. Judy can do whatever she wants; it's her life, and, most importantly, it's completely disconnected from mine, her recent and consistent appearances aside.

I don't mind this development.

I don't mind it at all.

Yes, I don't mind it at all, and there isn't some trite thing like denial. I am the Super Camp Jupiter Level Politician, and I own up to things when I need to; however, this is not a time in which I need to own up to anything.

Judy and Jose can do whatever they'd like.

...But still... _Jose_?

* * *

I shake all thoughts of Judy and Jose from my mind (but, by the gods, their names are _alliterative_ ) and decide it'd be best to track down Brynne and ask her what that pathetic excuse for a fake date was supposed to be.

However, the thoughts in my head as I walk towards Brynne's barrack consume my mind, and I end up walking into someone. Hopefully it isn't a faun... I don't wish to deal with a faun at the moment. Of course, no one ever wishes to deal with a faun, but that’s beside the point.

I look to the person I've hit and realize that who I've walked into was much worse than a faun. Much, much worse.

It's just my luck, honestly. Of course I'd run into the person at camp that I least wanted to see: Susan Pearson.

I console myself with the fact that it isn't Judy.

* * *

I walk away as fast as possible, not looking back and hoping to avoid her.

"Is that Octavian? Leave it to him to bump into someone and not say sorry..." Susan says in a volume that sounds almost purposefully loudly.

Yes, Susan, I am completely aware that you hate me for some unfounded reason, but thank you greatly for the reminder. It's just what I need at the moment, that boost that pushes me to keep going every morning.

Yet... she could probably tell me what was happening at that cafeteria scene. Clarification would help, but still... it was _Susan_.

I sigh to myself, but I decide it's worth it as I turn around and call, "Susan!"

She stops in her tracks and turns around. "What would the almighty Octavian want, huh?" she yells to me.

Well, for one thing, I'd like it if you could walk towards me so we can avoid yelling at each other from ten feet away, but it seems I'll be doing all the work in this conversation. I stride towards her and ask, "Can we talk?"

"I don't know, _can_ we?" she retorts in what she probably thinks to be clever and I pray silently to any gods that are listening.

"You see, I'm not quite sure; that might have been why I asked."

"Oh, yeah, Octavian, fucking sass me, _that_ will get you places," Susan says and I begin to regret the decision. Still, I've already started...

"Look, I'm not sure what you want to hear... _May_ we talk?" I attempt.

Susan seems to think it over awhile. Finally, she says, "Fine, but only because I've got nothing to do. Make it quick."

I think over how to word my question; how can I ask if they're dating without seeming creepy? I wouldn't want to make Susan to think even _less_ of me. "Is Judy... seeing anyone?"

"Excuse me?" Susan asks, and I realize I've worded my question in possibly the worst way possible. It sounds as if I intend to ask her on a date, or some other frivolous thing, and... Susan is angry once more. She pokes me hard in the chest. "Octavian, you are _not_ allowed to ask Judy out. No. If you do it, I will flip you all the way to Wednesday."

" _Today_ is Wednesday. But-"

" _Next_ Wednesday!" she snarls.

"Susan, I'm not going to ask Judy out on _anything_ , I was just-"

"You _better_ not ask Judy out," Susan interrupts me.

"I'm sorry, in the most polite way possible, could we stop the comments from the peanut gallery? Give me a moment to speak, _please_ ," I say. Susan rolls her eyes, but grudgingly nods. "Thank you. Now, what I was _going_ to say, was that I recently saw Jose kissing Judy's cheek and I was curious as to, ah, what that meant. Are they seeing each other?"

"What are you talking about? That's ridiculous, I told Jose that he couldn't- No. No way. I am whipping that guy's ass ten ways to Sunday."

"Jose?"

"No, not- Well, it doesn't matter to you anyway.  Look, I have to go, and remember, you're not allowed to ask Judy out. Or talk to her. Stay away from Judy! I'll see you... never, hopefully. Bye!" With that, Susan darts away.

And, just like that, I'm left abandoned and confused by one of Judy's friends for the second time this summer.

I try not to think to hard about it and go back to searching for Brynne. Perhaps I'll get answers there.

Then again, perhaps not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "How does it feel to realize you're all alone behind your eyes?"  
> \- "Trusted", Ben Folds


	11. Personal Space Violations, Uncaring Friends, and Favors

I chew on my sandwich unhappily. The sandwich isn't terrible or anything, but I'm  _alone_. Where's Susan and Taylor? Or even Jose? I don't wanna eat alone. Do you know what kind of people eat alone?  _Losers_. And I, Judy Calderon, daughter of Mercury, and, more importantly, Adriana Calderon, one-hit wonder, (and, legally, Adrian Calderon, but that's kind of irrelevant, I think) am most definitely  _not_  a loser.

Probably.

I glance around the cafeteria, desperate for  _anyone_  to sit with and see Octavian sitting alone across from me in the mess hall, looking vaguely uncomfortable. I look away from him and think.

Should I sit with him? I like Octavian (not like that, if there are any Susans or Taylors reading this), but there's still a chance that Susan or Taylor could come. If Susan was forced to sit with Octavian, she'd glare daggers at him  _and_  me the whole time. Taylor would probably giggle to himself the whole time and figure out some way to get us together. And then, of course, if Jose came in, it would be awkward as hell...

Maybe I could say hi to him, though. Haven't seen him since that one time we were in a tree! That was a great time... ah, trees. And watching other people injure each other for virtually nothing other than bragging rights.

I'm about to get up and say hello when some girl sits with him.

Aw man, is he on a date or something? That sucks! I can't just interrupt a date; that's super rude, not to mention awkward.

Wait... That's not  _some_  girl... That's  _Brynne Ramsey_! Oh my gods, she's so pretty; she's like a celebrity! And she's hanging out with Octavian? That's so cool, oh my god! I have spoken to someone who has spoken to Brynne!

She usually never eats in the mess hall; she gets her food somewhere else, I guess. It's probably from all her rightfully gained admirers. But she's here now, wow!

And yeah, I know what you're thinking: if I think she's so cool, why don't I just go talk to her? Well, usually, I have no problems speaking to attractive people; I mean, I  _do_  talk to myself on occasion. But Brynne's on a whole other level; she's probably the prettiest girl in the world. (Sorry, Emma Stone.) I can't just look a god-being like that in the eye. I mean, even if I  _am_  a god-being myself.

Suddenly, Octavian does something so weird and out-of-character for him that it draws my attention away from Brynne: he picks up a cherry and - wait for it - dary! Wait, what was I talking about? Ah yes, the crazy thing that Octavian did with the cherry was that, instead of eating it himself, he... fed it to Brynne.

Like, what just happened? Octavian wouldn't be caught dead doing something cheesy like feeding someone food! Unless it was like a campaign thing where he fed elderly people or babies or something. But not doing something weird like that to a girlfriend! Is Brynne changing him or something?

Ah! Is she looking at me? I look back down at the table and grin to myself. I've been  _looked at_  by  _Brynne Ramsey_!

But wait... I've kind of just accepted it, but... are Octavian and Brynne dating? Octavian's... dating? Octavian doesn't  _have emotions_. He doesn't even  _understand_  emotions! Is this like a political relationship or something?

Or hey, maybe Brynne's changed him! (She'd change  _me_ , that's for sure! Uh, but... not like... Anyway.) I'm happy for him, then. It's good to finally discover emotions and all that, even if I-

"Well,  _someone's_  staring," I hear a voice comment next to me.

"Oh my gods!" I yell, turning my head to see Jose sitting next to me with a bag of chips. That kid probably went to, like... ninja school or something. "Dude, not cool, man. How long have you been there? Also, can I have one?"

"Knock yourself out." Jose grins at me and holds out the potato chip bag. I take one. "Anyway, I've been here for five minutes, and you've been staring at old Doc Ock over there with more concentration than brain surgeons with rich people.  _Somebody's_  jelly," he sings, waggling his eyebrows almost grotesquely.

"Not you too," I complain. "Also, Doc Ock is probably the best nickname I've ever heard; do you mind if I use that?"

"It's going to catch on, right? Octavian always said it wouldn't. Haters to the left!" he says with the dorkiest gesture I've ever seen. Sometimes, I wonder how I ended up being friends with the biggest loser in Camp Jupiter.

"Oh my god, Jose. Anyway, I wasn't staring at Octavian because I was jelly- jealous, it was because he totally just hand-fed Brynne a cherry, like what the heck, man? Is that really Octavian?"

"Wait, what? Let me check this out." Jose turns to face Octavian. "Hey, what happened to Brynne?"

Unfortunately, Brynne was gone for some reason, and a darting of the eyes found her walking around table to table with the bowl of cherries. "She's over there, see? What's she doing?"

"This is the weirdest date I've ever witnessed," Jose comments, popping a chip in his mouth. "Wait, is she hitting someone?"

"She's hitting someone," I confirm. "What's going on? Is this how dates go for the upper crust?"

"Hey, First Cohort, you tell me! Wait, did pudding just fall on her face?"

"Look, now she's talking to Octavian! And... leaving?"

" _What_?" Jose says, turning to me.

"Wait, don't turn around now, I think Octavian is eating her sandwich!"

Jose turns back around. "The hell is this, man? I think we're being punk'd or something!" he exclaims as he watches Octavian munch on Brynne's sandwich with a frown. He should at least be happy that he's eating his girlfriend(?)'s sandwich, geez. Jose turns back around.

"That was like watching bizarre reality TV," I comment.

Jose shakes his head. "No, dude, this is sitcom-level weird. That's it. We're the main characters of  _30 Rock_.  _That's_  why this is happening." He grabs a potato chip.

I take one without asking and say, "I get to be Liz Lemon!"

"Oh, shoot, Judy! I wanted to be the forty year-old spinster!" Jose says, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"Hey, what happened to haters to the left?" I ask.

"Whatever. But anyway,  _was_  that a date?"

I shrug. "Beats me. I'd guess not, since it's Octavian, and you know, that entire spectacle, but he  _did_  feed her a cherry."

"You're right," Jose concedes, stroking his chin like a dignified politician. "That  _was_  grossly romantic."

"Hmm..." I say, stroking my chin likewise. "What could this mean?"

"Well..." Jose says, darting his eyes away from me a second. And then, suddenly, he  _kisses me_  on a cheek. "Did that make this a date?"

" _What the hell was that_?...!" I yell, wiping my cheek with my wrist.

"It was for science," he replies nonchalantly, as if he didn't just pull off a douchey move without warning.

"Frak science, that was not cool, man. That was the opposite of cool. You have to tell a girl before you pull something like this!" I tell him. "...You don't... like me or anything, right?"

Jose recoils, and suddenly I feel very offended. " _Gross_ , no!" I shoot him the darkest glare I can summon from the deepest pit of hell. "By which I mean... you're very beautiful and funny and intelligent, but you're just not that- out of my league, you are so out of my league, I can't handle it."

"Then what the heck was that violation of personal space for?" I ask.

"Ah, that is- I may have been... paid to do so. Oh wow, I have to leave, bye!" Jose stands up and starts striding out of the mess hall.

"Wait, what? Who paid you?" I yell at his retreating back, but he only speeds up his walking. I sigh and look back at the bag of potato chips he left behind in his flight, and decide to pull an Octavian.

Remembering Octavian, I wonder what he's doing and try to find him, but only see an empty table and a complete lack of Doc Ocks in the vicinity. Huh. What happened to him?

* * *

"Judy! Have you seen Taylor anywhere?" Susan asks me, after rushing towards me like a crazed teenage girl and giving me a mini-heart attack. I wonder how Justin Bieber deals with it on a daily basis. What a hero that guy is. Even if he is a huge douchebag.

"Geez, someone's in a hurry. And no, I haven't seen Taylor since this morning; he wasn't at the mess hall. You too! Where have you two been, huh?" I give her classiest knowing smirk I have in my repertoire.

"I wasn't with Taylor, Judy. I don't like Taylor, remember?" she says to me, and I open my mouth to comment on it, but she shuts me up. "No. Don't even. Anyway, I've got to go find Taylor; I'll talk you later."

Yeah, whatever; she was totally on a date with Taylor or something. I'm happy for them, although it's too bad they missed that bizarre date me and Jose witnessed. Speaking of which, I have to tell her about Jose! I haven't had anyone to tell yet...

"No wait, I have to tell you something!" I say, remembering the Jose thing. "Jose totally-"

"Yeah, he kissed you on the cheek, right? I heard. We'll talk later, Jude, I have to go kick someone's ass," Susan replies, surprisingly nonchalantly.

What? Susan's always over-involved and judge-y of everything in my "love life"! What happened to being all pissed about my so-called crush and all that? Why do people never care when I want them to care? Why is my life so hard?

I start to say something about she's usually all overprotective of me and big-sister-y (even if I'm older than her by a year) and whatnot, but Susan disappears before I can say anything.

And now I'm alone... and confused.

Wait, didn't she say she was looking for Taylor? And then say she was going to go kick someone's ass?

Do I wanna mess with this?

Well, there go my plans of complaining to Taylor...

* * *

I take a deep breath and stare at the doors to the temple.

I haven't seen Octavian in a while, so this whole visit might be awkward, but then again, it's  _Octavian_. What  _isn't_  awkward when you're with that kid? Plus the fact that I'm asking him for something...

He'll probably think I'm bugging him, but he does the exact same thing every single day. I guess I admire his perseverance, since he almost never gets anything important, but still, sometimes you need a little variety in your life. I mean, that bizarre date might've been enough variety, but it's also part of why visiting him, so... Well, I have no idea where I was going with this, but I'm here for my own benefit, not Octavian's, so who cares if he thinks I'm bugging him? Literally anything other than silence bugs him.  _And_  he owes me a favor.

I scan my surroundings, seeing if Taylor or Susan are anywhere near me, but they're somewhere else, presumably having a showdown. What did Taylor do, anyway? I mean, he's _Taylor_! Sure, he's been sassy lately, but he's a still a puny Venus kid. You don't beat up puny Venus kids unless you're a descendant of Satan, and we all know Satan is  _not_  a Roman god and therefore can't be real. Duh. Yeah, we've got Pluto, but I don't think we give that guy enough credit for not being a demonic evil god. I mean, sure, I may have forgotten any stories I heard about Pluto, but they renamed his planet into like an asteroid or whatever, and we're still here! He hasn't killed NASA or whoever's in charge of that stuff! I know that if I was a Roman god and they stopped my planet from being a planet and then removed the name after me, I would totally destroy NASA. I'd just snap and-

"I'm sorry, were you going to enter anytime soon?" a voice says, interrupting my incredibly relevant train of thought.

Wait, it's not just a voice... it's Octavian's voice! I turn around, and sure enough, Octavian's standing there, a knife in hand. "Hey, it's Octavian! I was just looking for you!"

"Really? I could've sworn you were just looking at a door..." Octavian muttered to himself in that rude, sarcastic way he usually does, thinking I can't hear. I don't really mind, though, considering I've known him for ages. "Ah, it's Judy. Of course it's Judy... Well, hello. What would you need from me?" he asks politely but tiredly, pushing me gently away from the temple doors. I don't put up a fight or ask why he's pushing me and trail after him as he enters the temple.

I sit in one of the pews and watch Octavian grab a stuffed animal from the pile... I don't want to witness this, but what I'm asking for is more important.

"Well, I kind of wanted to, uh..." What should I start out with? Maybe I'll butter him up before I ask him for the favor... but still, though. Can you butter up an emotionless teenager? ...Well, it's worth a try, I guess. "...congratulate you! I saw you in the mess hall with Brynne; are you guys dating?" Octavian's eyes widen almost imperceptibly when I mention the mess hall. "I think it's great for you to have emotional connections; it's really... healthy. And Brynne's really pretty, so that's great!"

His face goes darker than usual when I mention Brynne. I guess they're not dating, then... Well, that tactic failed. This is why I don't go into politics... Sure, laypeople are easy to charm - a joke and a smile is all you need - but  _politicians_? They are literally impossible to argue with; they're all cold and emotionless, like they were programmed. Well, not like that programmed girl in Pixel Perfect, since she was in love with Phil of the Future and all; more like... real robots. Like that freaky paper clip on Microsoft Word that used to try to help me with grammar but only scarred me for life.

"Ah, Brynne and I..." Octavian makes a weird face, like he's thinking over something really hard. Then, after a minute or so, he scrunches up his face, like he's thinking "why not?" and, finally, continues, "...we're not dating."

"But didn't you-" I begin, but stop myself. Now is not the time to act like a creeper; it may, in fact, be the opposite of that.

"Didn't I what?" Octavian asks, not looking up from his knife. I shiver.

Aw, but if he's asking, I have to answer. I mean, it doesn't sound like he really cares, but he might get suspicious if I don't answer. "Well... I might've seen you hand-feeding a cherry to Brynne," I said, trying to sound as nonchalant and not-creepy as possible.

Octavian frowns and stops what he's doing. "Hmm... I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but I trust you won't tell anyone... Well, I believe you will, but I doubt you'll tell anyone _important_." Is he telling me a secret? Wow,  _Octavian_  telling  _me_  a secret! This is one of those super rare things that only happen once every hundred years... Wait, did he just diss all my friends? "Brynne commissioned me for a... ah, fake date. I'm not sure why; I tried asking her, but she refused to answer. But I do have a bit of power over her now, so I suppose it was worth making a fool of myself in the mess hall." He returns to his teddy bear murdering and pulls his knife across the animal's stomach.

"That's a pretty weird reason," I comment. "Why you, though? I mean, you're handsome, I guess, but there are a bunch more conventionally hot guys that would kill just to  _talk_  to Brynne."

"Mm... thank you, I suppose. And I brought up that point, but she insisted it had to be me," Octavian replies absentmindedly. He studies the stuffing on the altar, sighs, and tosses the animal into the pile of carcasses.

"Oh, one thing, though. What was that at the end of the date? When Brynne punched a kid and pudding landed on her face? Because that was bizarre as hell, man," I say, forgetting that I'm not supposed to sound like I watched his date like it was a movie.

"Forgive me if this sounds rude, but just how intently were you watching this date?" Octavian asks with a raised eyebrow. He picks up a panda from the bag sitting at his feet and brandishes his knife.

My cheeks heat up and I grasp for an excuse. "Oh, um... well... it's not every day you see a person like you out on a date. It's a... rare happening... you know?"

"I suppose I don't," he replies. His mouth opens like he's about to say something, but he starts to think better of it or something and closes it, sighing. "Well, I did ask her about that; she said the person she meant to make jealous had already seen us and wanted to end the - and I quote - 'living hell'."

"Well, that's harsh. I thought it was some bizarre upper-crust dating ritual. Did you see who was watching you?" I ask.

"Considering I hadn't even seen  _you_  watching our date as intently as you had, I didn't," he answers. "Not that I really care; it was probably one of Brynne's exes or the like."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," I concede. I consider asking about that whole sandwich-taking stunt at the end of the date, but I decide against it as I watch him gut a panda.

"Judy," Octavian sighs out, and I get a little worried he's going to chew me out for something, "do you mind if I... ask you something a bit personal?"

"Do I  _mind_?" I ask him. "Nah, ask whatever."

"Well, at the mess hall, I happened to see you and Jose as well," he said, "and-"

"Wait, you were watching us watching you? That's, like, Nolan-level stuff, man. Although..." I think. "I'm pretty sure we would've seen you looking at us as well."

"In any case, I was wondering..." He puts his knife down. "...are you and Jose, ah..." He starts making bizarre gestures with his hands that I hope represent dating.

"Me and Jose? Oh, that's...  _that's completely gross_!" I say, gagging. "Jose is nice, but I just... Disgusting!"

Wait! That's how I'll worm my request in!

"Ah, that's a relief, I suppose. You see, I..."

I'll just be like, "Actually, Jose's why I came here!"

"I think I may... ah... how do I say this..."

"Actually, you know, he has a lot to do with the other reason I came to find you!" I say, proud of myself for finding a way to bring up my request.

"Excuse me?" Octavian asks, bewildered, stuffed animal sitting forgotten on the altar. Shoot, was he saying something? It's probably not important... He's probably just putting someone down again. See, I like Octavian, but all that negative energy can get a little tiring.

"Jose, I mean. Um, you know how you owe me a favor for doing the stuffed animal thing?" I ask him tentatively.

"I'd thought you did that from the goodness of your heart and for the camp, but yes, I suppose I do," he replied, still looking incredibly confused.

"Uh... I'm not going to hold you to it or anything; I mean, yeah, I did it because I like you, but I still kinda need a favor, haha...?"

"Well, what is it, then? I can't guarantee anything, but I'll try, I suppose," Octavian says, and I'm not very encouraged, but I really want this favor.

"Okay, so… you know how you friend-broke-up with Jose?" I ask.

"Yes. I suppose he told you?" Octavian answered.

"Well, yeah, he did. And, the thing is, I understand why you did it, right? Because I know a bunch of people don't like him. But I think you're kind of overreacting; it's not like anyone really cares that you're friends with him. He's kind of sleazy and annoying, but he's not outright offensive, like a bully or anything," I try to explain. "And, you know, some people see you being friends with him as really charitable. It, uh, gives you points with the general public."

Octavian isn't falling for it. "...Your point?"

"I want you to be friends with Jose again," I say plainly, figuring that if that whole speech I just gave about Jose didn't sway him at all, any fancy words are a waste of time.

"But I don't understand what this has to do with you, exactly; did Jose put you up to this?" he asked.

"No, I just... hate it when friends stop being friends. You know?" I say before I realize that  _I_  shouldn't be saying that to  _Octavian_.

He gives me the most judgmental look I've ever been given in my life. "I don't recall you minding when you were thirteen," he responded dryly. Shoot, shoot, shoot! "Tell me, what do you really have to gain from mending mine and Jose's friendship?"

I give up completely and say, "Jose's following me around now! I mean, he's a good guy, if kind of a loser, but I need space! ...Well, okay, yeah, I can tolerate the stalking and all, but he totally violated my personal space today!"

"Are you referring to when he kissed you on the cheek?" Octavian asks. "I've been meaning to ask: Does Jose have feelings for you? It never seemed that way when we were friends..."

"No, dude! And that's the worst part! I mean, if he couldn't control himself because I was so alluring and beautiful, then  _maybe_  I would've understood. But he was  _repulsed_  when I asked him if he liked me. Like, excuse me, Jose, did  _I_  just kiss  _your_  cheek without any warning?"

"But I don't understand," Octavian says. "Why would he kiss your cheek if he had no feelings for you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, so apparently, some douchebag paid him. Jose's just whoring out his kisses without anyone's consent. Like, it'd be okay if he really needed the money and, I don't know, had these people's consent, but dude! He didn't! Not okay!"

"Who paid him?" Octavian asks.

"Wish I knew," I reply. "I'd whup them ten ways to Thursday."

"Well, Judy, you do realize that that entire spiel did nothing to help your cause, don't you?" Octavian asks with a slight hint of humor in his voice. Wow, Octavian finds nothing funny, ever... That is, except my failures. Sometimes... I hate Octavian, never mind how much I defend him to Susan.

"Could you just... do this for me?" I ask, with the most charming smile I can summon.

"I'll think about it," Octavian says with a smirk. "No promises."

"Please?" I ask again, trying to beam even more.

"Don't push it, Judy."

"Fine..." I say, slumping down in the pew as surrender washes over me. "So, how's life been treating you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "And so, he forgot, he forgot, maybe not..."  
> \- Ben Folds, "Annie Waits"
> 
> (also, if ben folds wasn't the patron... artist of this fic, i totally would've made the quote from Tell Her About It because it is literally the cutest billy joel song ever omg)


	12. Diviner in Denial (Pt 37)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoa super awks it's been more than a year since an update, welp. to everyone i told, "you made me start working on the new chapter! :)" during the break i apologize profusely if you got your hopes up for a new chapter. in all honesty, i am the worst person, biggest procrastinator, and at least partially garbage. i am so sorry.
> 
> anyway, the characterization in this is a little bit questionable, but. it's been awhile. please bear with me, kind reader. 3 feel free to leave concrit, though~ any and all feedback is appreciated; i'm lonely and everyone thinks it's weird i wrote an octavian/oc romcom AND I NEED TO SHOW THEM IT'S COOL AND PEOPLE LIKE IT OKAY. thank you :)
> 
> recap: octavian went on a fake date with brynne to make someone jealous, and he saw jose kiss judy's cheek there; we (including octavian) later find out this was not what judy wanted and jose is actually repulsed by the idea of judy as anything more than a friend. judy is so grossed out by the kiss that she asks octavian to talk to jose again so he'll stop being clingy and weird, but while she's making her request, it seems like octavian was about to confess something (hint, hint). ofc, judy tactlessly cut him off and he eventually agreed to talk to jose.

"Hey, Octavian," Jose greets, sliding into a pew. "Judy said you wanted to talk. Did you need something from me?"

I look him up and down. His hairstyle is wild as always, the tips done green rather distastefully, and his brown eyes aren't tinged red from tears or anything. His clothing is disheveled, but it's not as if it's much of a change; Jose doesn't keep himself clean the same way fish don't keep their legs muscled. He isn't even paler, whatever that would imply; as far as I can tell, there are no outward signs of Jose turning into a mess after my abandoning him.

Yet... I do feel compelled to help him if he does need it. And Jose's never been one to allow his weaknesses to show.

"Ah, well... It's the other way around. In the least presumptuous way possible, I think you might need me," I tell him, skewering a bear.

Jose's eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion. "Huh...?" Before I can clarify, his expression relaxes and he says in a smug voice, "You've been talking to Judy, haven't you?"

Judy... that was-

No, no, no. Now isn't the time for that train of thought.

"Well..." I try to think of a way to run circles around the question, but eventually deem the task not worth the effort. "Yes."

Not completely interested, I glance at the stuffing and find nothing important. Sighing, I take another animal.

Jose laughs. "Nah, man, Judy's probably exaggerated everything. I've been bugging her on purpose, you know?"

"I wouldn't put it past you. However..."

"Oh shoot, you saw the kiss. How did I forget about that?" Jose asks himself, exaggeratedly smacking his forehead with his palm. "Look, dude, I totally get you're into Judy, it was a platonic thing, don't even worry about it, man." He pauses for a millisecond. "Whoa! Lightbulb. Idea: I'll totally wingman for you. I'm up for it. Are you?"

I roll my eyes, putting down the elephant in my hands. Is he really trying to play /me/? "Jose, just stop. Are you honestly trying to change the subject without me noticing? Forget your, ah..." I think for a second. "... _delusions_  about me and Judy. We're going to talk about  _you_  whether you wish to or not."

Jose low-whistles. "Alright, then, Dr. Phil. Start the therapy."

I pause, not sure how to begin. Glancing at Jose, I realize he's not taking it seriously and sigh. Well, that's to be expected, I suppose. I can't quite recall a time he's ever taken anything seriously.

"For one thing, are you aware that you make everyone you meet hate you?" I ask him.

Jose clutches his heart overdramatically, saying, "That wounds!" Silently, I pray to Amicitia that my attempts at staying a friend rather than an angry acquaintance will succeed. With that, I raise the elephant from the altar to the air. "I mean, gee, why don't you tell me how you really feel?" Jose continues.

"Take this seriously," I command him through gritted teeth. Deciding it would be a good time for it, I slice open the elephant's stomach.

"Whoa, Nellie," Jose replies. I send him a glare. "Alright, alright, yeah, I guess I am kind of aware of that," he continues, his mood remaining mellow as always.

"And is there any reason for that?" I ask him.

"Well," he says, glancing at the ceiling and rubbing the back of his neck. "Nothing that really has anything to do you."

"Excuse me?" I say, putting down my knife.

Jose stands up, brushes himself off, and raises a hand in the air. "You're excused." He chuckles. "Look, I'll stop bugging Judy, alright? I'll see you later."

He zooms out of the temple before I can blink.

* * *

As Jose leaves, I think about what I just did.

I just… did something just to help Judy. Out of the goodness of my heart. I had nothing to gain from it; Judy has no social status, no power, and she can't really do me any favors, but… I did it nonetheless.

I think about what happened yesterday. How she came in, and… what happened? I…

What does she mean to me? She's a nuisance, and I dislike her, but… She's kind, and her constant happiness can be infectious, at times. Despite this, however, I don't  _like_  her. I have no reason to, and I don't need to be dealing with this right now. What I did – or, rather, what I  _tried_  to do - was a complete mistake.

Well, I've helped Judy. For now, I'm done with her. And I think I'll try and make this "now" last as long as it possibly can.

* * *

I keep like this for about a week. Honestly, I haven't really encountered Judy all that often, and after I've made some excuse for her to leave me alone, she's done so with next to no problem. I suppose she didn't have as many misperceptions as to our relationship as I thought; in retrospect, most of our interactions over this summer have only really happened by chance or my initiation.

But it's not as if that's a wounding revelation. I  _do_  want her out of my life, at least for now.

And it's been working. I'm starting to focus on what's truly important; I'm-

"Octavian!"

I groan.

And the prodigal son has returned.

But does that even make sense? He  _did_  leave unappreciative of me and my kindness earlier, but does that still make it an appropriate example? I'm not exactly welcoming him back with opening arms, so I suppose I don't fit into the metaphor, but do I really need to? I called  _him_  the prodigal son, not myself the father of the prodigal son. The prodigal father?

What am I even saying? The question is pedantic at best; I should discard it.

Allow me to cease my digression.

The prodigal son in question is Jose, and while I'm not thrilled to see him, conversing with someone simple like him is kind of refreshing, what with all the politicians I've been working with recently. "Wasting camp funds…" I'd like to tell them all these stuffed animals haven't come from the budget, but I'd have to reveal the method with which I did obtain them, and that's unsavory. I'd really rather not. I'd honestly rather not deal with them at all, but I do have my ambitions to think about.

"Hey! What are you doing, man?" Jose interrupted. "You haven't reacted for, like… a solid minute. Maybe two solid minutes." He throws up his arms and laughs. "I have zero perception of time."

When he throws up his arms, a Mickey Mouse watch glints in the sunlight, the strap looking to be faux leather and the edges of the watch face being silver. Mickey Mouse stands in the center of the watch, his arms twisting in what would be painful positions if he were real to be the hands on the clock. I've never seen him wear it, but it's not especially important to me whether or not he's gotten a new watch, so I don't bother asking about it.

"Did you need something?"

"Once again, no hello. Cold, dude," he comments, and he seems like he'll say something else, but I cut him off.

"I don't exactly appreciate how you ran out of the temple the other day." I think a second and add something else before Jose starts thinking too highly of himself and his actions. "Not that I find it of that much importance."

He chuckles to himself. "Yeah, you really drove in your point with that last comment." He pauses a second, but I don't grace him with a reply. "Look, I need to talk to you. Can you come with me?"

"We can't do this here?" I ask. "Is this a particularly long conversation?"

He nods and tries to grasp my wrist, but I shake him off easily. "Just follow me, okay?"

I want to say I'm busy, but I'm honestly not; all that's left for me is really just a couple of hours in the temple spent fruitlessly. I have time to spend humoring Jose; the question is, do I really wish to?

Well, it's not as if I've got anything better to do.

Somehow I find myself in a rather secluded area, off at one of the edges of the camp grounds. Is this one of the faun hangouts? I'm not surprised Jose's friendly with the fauns; they both share the same grating, annoying tendencies.

The area is grassy, if a little dark. We sit behind a bush, as if we aren't hidden enough already.

"Why is it necessary we go all the way here?" I ask Jose. What could he possibly have to tell me that warrants this much seclusion? Does he… actually wish to open up to me? Talk to me about his feelings?

I think about that for a moment.

It's interesting. Jose does seem to have hidden depths… but those depths are hidden beneath layers and layers of irritating personality. If the depths happen to be just more irritating personality, perhaps of a different kind, the entire effort will turn out to be fruitless. How deep can  _Jose_  be, anyway, truly?

In the end, however, I don't feel as if it's much of my business. I'm keeping away from Judy; I have little interest in doing what she asks of me. I don't need to be Jose's friend, and it's honestly quite a bit of work. Am I ready to commit to that once more?

"See, the conversation I'm about to have with you..." I watch him rub his neck as he puts down the backpack he's been carrying with him and see him take a seat. "It's… super secret. Like you-can't-even-comprehend super secret."

"But… if I can't comprehend it, why are you speaking with me about it?" I ask him, genuinely confused.

"See, you're already not comprehending it!" Jose notes, as if I've proven his point completely. His trademark grin sits upon his face, and I groan. Leave it to Jose to be proud of making a nonsensical point.

"What did you even wish to speak with me about?" I ask him.

"Okay, so see, it's like this…" He waves his arms about in grand motions, and I can't make any sense of them. "You know how I was talking to you the other day?"

"How could I not?"

"Well-" Abruptly, he pauses. His watch seems to have caught his eye while he made his ridiculous gestures; maybe he stole the watch by accident? Though I suppose it's unfair to assume that; for all the time I've known him, Jose has never proven to be a thief.

 _Unlike someone else I know_.

I shake the thought out of my head, not realizing how strange it looks until I've already done it. Luckily, Jose seems to be preoccupied with his own issues.

"Aw, shit. I mean, shoot. You guys are all weird about that cursing and stuff, right? It's like I'm surrounded by geezers… Anyway, I'm actually running late, I have to go meet Taylor about something. Can't keep that kid waiting, he might cry while I'm not there." Jose chuckles to himself.

"What?" I ask him, incredulous. This is far by the biggest inconvenience he's ever done me! Well, perhaps that statement shouldn't be said so lightly, but this is ridiculous. "You took me all the way out here. It was a fifteen-minute walk! Let the boy cry!"

Jose smirks. "Watch out, I could've gotten that on tape and ruined your entire political career. You realize what you just said, don't you? But anyway, just wait around here for me, the talk is still really important." He makes his expression neutral and continues in a German accent, "I'll be back."

"Don't be ridiculous; I'm not going to sit around waiting for you. I'm a centurion; I don't have time to be sitting behind bushes waiting for a descendant of the goddess of gardening." See? Even his title sounds unimportant.

Jose places his hand on my shoulder in a friendly gesture, not allowing me to shake him off. He meets my eyes and – I never realized how… brown his eyes are… They're so… "Look, Doc, can you be a friend just this once? I promise I'll return."

He moves his face an inch closer to mine and all I can do is stutter out a frazzled "okay." I end up leaning so far back away from him that I find my back against the grass.

"Thanks, man!" Jose says, getting up and picking up his knapsack. He burrows through his bag and pulls out a book. "Look, I even have that dumb play you're so obsessed with." He tosses the book at me, and I catch it, though I was initially caught off guard.

I examine the book; it's old, but whoever owned it didn't take as good care of it as I took care of my copy. They're not even the same edition. "This… isn't my copy. Where did you get this?"

"It's mine, dude. Where else would I get it? Speaking of that, I can't say I really understand what you love so much about this play; I had you pegged for a  _Julius Caesar_  kind of guy. You know, because…  _Julius Caesar_. This is just some dumb comedy about love and stuff. Isn't that pretty much everything you hate bound into one book?" Jose asks.

"I…" I hesitate, never really having considered what he's saying.

"There's just nothing about this play that really screams 'Octavian!' you know? I kept meaning to talk to you about this, but it never came up."

"Well-"

"And there's the whole thing that, like, it's not that good? I liked it back when I thought Shakespeare was hot shit – stuff – like everyone says he is, but he's not. It's more tolerable than some of his other stuff, but… it's still not that amazing. I mean, the binding of your book is totally shot; it looks like you read it a million times. I read it twice, and I'm totally good for the rest of time."

I examine Jose's copy. The cover is half-ripped, and it looks like he spilled an entire pot of coffee on the novel. He only read this twice?

Jose looks down at his wrist. "Shoot, I totally forgot about Taylor. He's probably sobbing right now. I'll see you later, dude."

Much like he did in the temple, Jose jets off.

I pause a second and consider what Jose said to me.

And then promptly shrug it off, get comfortable in the grass, and open the book.

It's not as if I have anything else to do.

_If music be the food of love, play on…_

* * *

I hear rustling from somewhere behind the bushes in front of me, and I close my eyes and pray that it's only the wind and not a faun here to harass me. I did suspect this was a faun area before… However, a voice proves me wrong, but despite the lack of fauns, I still need to hold back a groan.

"Hey, thanks for coming all the way here with me."

It's Brynne Ramsey… After what happened three weeks ago, I thought I was done with her. Her complaining, her rudeness, her entitlement… That woman is vile. Well, perhaps my wording is a bit strong, but I can't sya I like her in the least.

Hm… but it doesn't sound like she's moving anymore. Perhaps she has no intention of going deeper into the forest? That makes sense, as Jose brought me ridiculously far in… Where is he, anyway? What could he even be doing this long with Taylor?

"No, it's no problem… I mean, I should be thanking you, for calling me out here!"

Ah, but that's irrelevant to the current situation. Brynne… If I stay silent, she'll have no reason to move further into the forest, and I won't need to make her acquaintance once more. As well as that, eavesdropping on her conversation could give me blackmail material, which is far more effective than "owing a favor." However, there's still one question begging for answer in the back of my mind…

What is she going to do that she had to isolate herself and whoever else is with her so thoroughly?

And one answer stands out from the rest, but… she can't be…

"You know, just because I'm pretty doesn't mean you need to thank me for spending time with you, which I asked  _you_  for. You don't need to be so nervous; I'm really just like you, another human in this strange, unpopular restaurant…"

No, no, no, no… Brynne is classy, isn't she? She wouldn't… not in the middle of the forest… it's too public! But then again, what's less public than here, the barracks? That's even worse!

I close my eyes, get on my knees, and pray to the gods that what I think is happening  _isn't_ happening.

"Actually, I'm half god, so… haha… I mean- Wait, do you hear that rustling? Do you think someone's over there? You said we needed to be alone for this conversation, I wouldn't want-"

Wait… the person Brynne is talking to, she said "conversation"! Which means they're only talking… Perhaps the gods know mercy, after all. Though I do suspect… though I was caught up in my thoughts earlier, I realize now… the other person she's speaking to? It's… Judy.

It's Judy, and judging from all the noise I'm hearing, she's going to come over here!

Before thinking of all the noise I would make, I scramble up the tree I was leaning on in fear of being found.

This is the worst situation I could be in… I am going to flay Jose alive for leaving me here. I'm sure Taylor wouldn't have minded if he brought me along… Not that I particularly want to see Taylor again, either, but anything but this! All the girls that torment me most are gathered here… well, excluding Susan, but her opinion is so unimportant that she probably wouldn't make the list anyway.

"No, you don't need to worry. No one ever comes out here… It's my own little secret space."

Brynne's stopping her? Perhaps she isn't as vile as I thought. But at the same time… her  
secret space"? She only ventured about ten minutes into the far forest; she shouldn't feel so special about it.

"Are you sure? I really think there's someone there; I mean, the noise just got louder! I think I'll just-"

I look down from my tree and realize I left  _Twelfth Night_ at the base of the trunk. I contemplate going back down to get it, but Judy's becoming a larger threat by the second. It's Jose's copy, anyway, and I don't think she'd put it past him to eavesdrop on two teenage girls.

…If I'm doing something no one would question Jose for doing, what does that make me…?

"Judy, really, sit down, it's no issue. If anyone's listening, it doesn't really matter. I just don't like the chatter around us on the main grounds, you know?"

I look around from my tree and find that I can see Judy and Brynne from the angle I sit at, if I squint past the leaves. I see Judy starting to stand up, while Brynne pulls her down. Looking at Brynne's hand, I shudder. That girl has a monstrous grip; I would know.

Judy sits down again and starts to speak.

"Well, you know, that's kind of funny, considering you, uh, pulled me out of my, you know, empty barrack for this? I mean, not to be rude or anything, but-"

I see Brynne put a hand her shoulder and smile. With that smile, I notice that she looks much nicer than usual today, which does mean a lot. Did she work harder on her appearance? She didn't bother to look this nice for our fake date… Should I be offended?

"Judy, Judy, Judy, Judy," Brynne repeats, placing one hand on her shoulder and gesturing grandly with the other, " _nature_."

That… made no sense! It was completely irrelevant to what Judy was saying! What is Brynne playing at?

"O-Oh! I- understand you…" Judy… stutters? I peer closely at her all-too-familiar face, and realize her cheeks have been colored a light pink… Is she blushing? Why is she blushing? She's not even pointing out the stupidity of Brynne's response! "U-Um, so what did you call me here for?"

"Oh... I just wanted to speak to you," Brynne replies smoothly as she stops leaning on Judy. "You've caught my attention, you know. You always seem to be so happy; I think that's very... nice." Slowly, she covers Judy's hand with her own.

Is she...? I peer at the two girls, and take note of Brynne's attempt to intertwine their fingers.

She's  _seducing_  her! And what sort of seduction is this? Brynne should really be good at this sort of thing! What strategy is she even using, violate her prey's personal space until she feels so embarrassed she falls in love? That's ridiculous.

But why is she seducing Judy? Judy has no standing in Camp Jupiter; there's no way she would have "caught Brynne's attention"! Smiling doesn't make up for messy clothing, messy braids, and no effort in her appearance at all! She may be charming, but she never brings herself to use it unless she just wants to make friends with someone or needs to get herself out of a mess. Judy is so...  _normal_. There's nothing interesting about her!

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice asks why she caught  _my_  attention, but I dismiss it. I can't be thinking about that right now. I...

What's important is that Brynne doesn't  _have_  genuine interest in Judy; it just doesn't add up. And what's truly important is that, because of that, Judy might get hurt. It really doesn't affect me, but... Brynne is right; she  _is_  always smiling, and... Well, she's one of the few, I suppose, and I don't think I would gain from her being part of that group no longer. And... she is sort of fun in her own right. Being with her makes me happier than being shut in the temple all day, and I do enjoy that escape. I know I've said I'm getting too close to Judy, and I know I've been avoiding her, but... I don't think this should happen to her when I can stop it, I suppose. It's another thing I'm doing for Judy... but it will be the last. I swear.

So I decide I simply cannot allow Brynne to break her heart, for whatever reason she has, but I can't reveal myself here and now. Judy might not like that, and she'll trust me less. That the last thing I'd like to happen; she's one of the few that trust me genuinely and completely. Chalk it all up to naivety, I suppose.

I sigh as I look down at Brynne and Judy, knowing there's nothing I can do but watch.

I'll... figure something out.

* * *

After watching their conversation for a while, my mood quickly goes sour. There's something about this that just makes me want to… I don't know, go to the temple and slaughter the stuffed animals, regardless of what their stuffing reads. Dig up dirt on Brynne and spread it around campus? I am just… very unsettled and very unhappy because of this sight.

Though, try as I might, I can't exactly put my finger on why. I don't like Brynne, but it's more than that. There's something that feels inherently... wrong about this. It's the same way I feel when I don't win elections, when I hear someone make an unsavory remark about my methods, and I dislike it completely. Judy is falling for every one of Brynne's tricks (To put it charitably; there really does not seem to be any rhyme or reason to what she's doing.) and I'm getting annoyed at the sight of her bright red cheeks and the sound of her ridiculous stutter. Don't even get me started on how I feel about Brynne.

However, this train of thought is quickly interrupted by the sound of more footsteps. Judy and Brynne stop talking and look for the source of the noise, which, after a moment, is revealed to be... Taylor? Isn't he supposed to be with Jose, who  _I'm_  waiting for? What's Jose doing?

Tsk. I should've known he'd forget about me.

"Judy! You're here! We really need you!"

Judy moves away from Brynne and eyes Taylor. "Taylor? How'd you know where I was? This place is kind of... remote, you know?"

Taylor rubs the back of his neck. "Well, I knew you were with Brynne, and... Venus intuition!"

Judy looks at Brynne questioningly, and Brynne sighs. "Yes, that's a thing."

"Anyway, it doesn't matter! We really need you, there's an emergency!"

"What's the emergency?" Judy asks, looking genuinely confused.

"Well, you know, Susan... and Jose!"

Judy scrambles to her feet. "Oh my gods, she's finally snapped and killed him, hasn't she?" Looking at Brynne, she tells her, "I'm sorry, I really have to go. Thank you for... talking to me."

Brynne stands up as well, kisses Judy on the cheek, and says, "It was my pleasure. I'll see you tomorrow?"

Her face the color of a tomato, Judy stutters out, "Y-Yeah!"

Taylor grabs Judy's hand. "Come on!"

And with that, Judy runs off.

I sit in silence, waiting for Brynne to leave, but… Just for a second, very subtly, I swear I see her look right at me, a smirk on her face.

Before I can decide what to do, she turns and walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, I've got no right to lay claim to her frame; she's not my possession. Get your hands off my woman, motherfucker." - Ben Folds, "Get Your Hands off My Woman"


End file.
